Ann Cotten

(1982 / Ames, Iowa)

VERTEIDIGUNGSREDEN - Poem by Ann Cotten

Sie fauchen wie aus ratlosen Motoren,
das Öl will bloß hinaus und spuckt
Vokabel, um sie loszuwerden
wie toter Mauser Pfoten.

Der tote Mauser liegt am Brunnenrand
und klaubt die Steine nah am klammen Herz.
Die kleinen Pfoten wurden überfahren
von keines Mannes ratlosen Motoren.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 25, 2018



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