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suicide poem

ich kann nicht seinem greatness immer glauben
ich mag es
unter einem ausgebreiteten Kastaniebaum
hohe Wände und sehr groß
von der Sonne noch Sterne
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
Kerzen, die seitlich in den Tomatedosen stürzen
Schlaf süß in Ihren humble Gräbern
für diese weißen Arme über meinen Ansatz

 



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