the city like the village,
only more sad.
by the route one boarding house
for schoolgirls working
in the fresh air
and in the vicinity
petrol station behind paths
you are hanging around under legs,
unknown to everyone.
don't wait until somebody warms you.
take a pill, best max
for the warm-up to the bed.
tomorrow new day,
and a next round is waiting for you
around the roundabout on the market
therefore rest healthy.
effectively breathing in,
and doing own roll-ups.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem