Why pretend you
the wind, the stone, the bird?
Why are you smiling
Me from the sky sudden summer lightning?
Do not torture me anymore, do not touch!
Let me go to the prophetic concerns ...
Reeling drunk fire
On the dried gray moors.
And The Muse in holey scarf
Drawling singing and depressing.
The brutal and youthful angst
Its miraculous strength.
