Last Spring by Gottfried Benn
April 9, 2013, 7:32 pm
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“Fill yourself up with the forsythias
and when the lilacs flower, stir them in too
with your blood and happiness and wretchedness,
the dark ground that seems to come with you.

Sluggish days. All obstacles overcome.
And if you say: ending or beginning, who knows,
then maybe—just maybe—the hours will carry you
into June, when the roses blow.”


Circulation- Gottfried Benn
January 18, 2013, 5:47 pm
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The solitary molar of a streetwalker
whose body had gone unclaimed
had a gold filling.
All the rest were gone,
as if by tacit agreement.
This one the morgue attendant claimed for himself,
flogged it, and had himself a night out on the proceeds.
Because, so he said,
only dust should revert to dust.

September 1, 2011, 2:08 am
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Know this:
I live beast days. I am a water hour.
At night my eyelids droop like forest and sky.
My love knows few words:
I like it in your blood.

(this poem gives me goosebumps!)