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prose poetry

ich denke sie gerades herrliches
aus mir heraus unwürdig und unbekannt
warum die Sachen sind, die keinen Tod haben
weiße Schaumgummiblume, rote Flammeblume
zwischen den musing Sonnenuntergang und die Dunkelheit
sie sprengte fierce Wein
Himmel, die sie waren, ashen und nüchtern
die einzelne zusammengeprgessene angehobene Faust und bereiten vor

 



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