[bei sonnenaufgang]

Poem By Daniel Falb

bei sonnenaufgang fühlte ich mich schon wie ein wirt
und war vom paketdienst. auf dem weg zum empfänger
kein laufband auslassen, keine spuren, nur infekte, nur verschleiß.
mein tourette-syndrom hatte immer für mich kommuniziert,
aber jetzt hielten die zeremonien.
der witz mit der bananenschale wurde substanziell,
und um die form zu wahren, wiederholte ich ihn noch mal.
ich fand den briefkasten nicht, oder vielmehr nur den briefkasten.
diese büros waren leer, aber verwanzt, das waren stallungen,
die viren meiner nutztiere wie erspartes noch in der luft.

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