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retirement poem

Tochter, thoukunst kommen zu sterben
alle innen und alle ohne mich
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
sehr gut Sie Liberale
unter meinem Fenster in einer Stadtstraße
zwei Reihen der Kohlpflanzen
Sturm
an der Dämmerung sagte er
es gibt Gewinne für alle unsere Verluste

 



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