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Störtebeker

„I am the ninth, a bad position.
But he's still walking."
(Günter Eich)

he's still walking, a head watching a body
as it staggers on. but where is he really,
his real self? in those last looks
he gave from the basket, or in his blind steps?
i am the ninth and the month is october;
the cold and the hempen rope cut deeper

into the flesh. we kneel in a row, high
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