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son poem

von unseren versteckten Plätzen
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
vor drei Jahren heute
was es die gesagten Maschinen war
irgendwo las ich eine merkwürdige, alte, rostige Geschichte
Material des Mondes
einige windigere Tage
lassen Sie einen Freudenunterhalt Sie
burly, DösenHumblebiene
behold ich, in meinem chiffon, in Gaze und in Filterstreifen
auf und an

 



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