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grandmother poem

ich bin alt und blind
in den Hallen des Schlafes wandered Sie vorbei
sehen Sie das vorläufige
einige der Hurts, die Sie kuriert haben
die auf das Oberseite sagen, daß sie Sie, Masse kennen -- sie sind Lügner
unter den Rauch und Nebel eines Dezembernachmittages
die Schwärzung stiehlt die Formen aller Königinnen
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben

 



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