I am the people’s point of view, a cow
a tropical wind, I sleep beneath the surface
I am the aristocratic cannibal, I eat form
I drum on cooks’ white caps
I drum on their aprons, I am the green integration
water flows into the lazaretto, ice forms on boots from the moisture
little drums, elementary forces, little snouts
the dog snarls in pictures
the temperature battered, the door, I tossed a gold ring
into boiling oatmeal, autumn is here
fate has the same circle, pedestrians stink
new snow falls on the snowballs
the grasses are soaked in coats of scarlet red
the air swirls, the thicket swirls over the desert
carpets are beaten, color gets up with sunrise
more people will see me, with sunrise I become morning