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family poetry

Hinausschieben, vainly kämpfend
ich bin der Wind, der wavers
lassen Sie hören
warum Sie immer der dort shivering Standplatz tun Sie
wenn der rote Slayer denken, slays er
blau-schwarze nubian zupfende Orangen
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste
gegangen vor uns
für war mich ein gaunt, ernstes Ratsmitglied
Sturm
Farbtöne der Nacht fielen schnell
durch die rude Brücke

 



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