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fall poem

hoch-getragenes Rennen
die Wiese kroch
dunkel-eyed
drei Tage hörte ich sie, sich Sorgen zu machen, wann ich absolut lege
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
dieses ist der Song von Jugend
wenig Gatter wurde schließlich erreicht
alter Wein zum Trinken
innerhalb meiner Hand halte ich
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
Kurzschluß und süsses und wir sind zum Ende von ihm gekommen

 



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