Dagmar Leupold Poems

They look at us, white and red,
as if from old paintings: their tepid
flesh and dun hair in braids
burdening their narrow shoulders. Like glass
...

Days go by
mouths torn open
wide
insensate the swallowed-up
...

Draw me, we will run after thee
to Spitsbergen
there too
our bed blossoms
...

Every morning the bus to school
drives past the Mainz brothel:
the bus stop is right in front of the main gate
hic habitat felicitas
...

Sounds of Silence
it says under the propellers
a slip of the tongue
not silver-tongued and
...