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poetry poem

gestern Abend legte der Vollmond ein Tuch von Weiß
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
fällt hier kein Licht
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
sehen Sie, sie zurückgehen
hören Sie den Regen?
ich war eine Göttin, ere der Marmor mich fand
ich kann nicht Ihnen jetzt erklären
warum Sie immer der dort shivering Standplatz tun Sie
herauf von die Wiesen reich mit Mais
die kleinen weißen Gebete

 



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