Dead rivers.
Naked glaze.
At the heavenly threshing-floor-
Cloud stack.

Drunken whirlwind is dancing,
Whimper old dog.
From the sunny disc
Yawning coldly

To the earth – the prophet…

In broken mirror-
A broken light of face.
The winter is lighting up it’s cigar
At he porch.
The color blood – ashy black…
The death has sent
It’s messenger to the hut.
Pain – is the death of will-
Testing
The patience of the wise man.
At last Confuzio, has matured,
Beginning from the end.