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contemporary poetry

ich bin alt und blind
süsses splendor
das kleine mitfühlende, getragen, Lachengesichter
steigender Mond hat die Sterne versteckt
wenn ich sterbe, denken Sie nur dieses an mich
und mit dem Summenvogel
der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
verbessern Sie als Granit
die Lattentagesdrowses auf dem westlichen durchtränken
letzter Mitternacht

 



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