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pumpkin poem

ich habe den Silence der Sterne und des Meeres gekannt
vor dem ernsten Bronzeheiligen
ich mag es
ich brenne keinen Duft
ich sah die archangels in meinem Apfel-Baum gestern Abend
die hypocritic Tage
durch die ausgedehnten schmerzende Brust der Masse
in den mournful Zahlen
Stadt, die nicht eine Stadt ist
gegangen die drei, jene seltenen Schwestern

 



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