early in the morning I am opening a window
and right away are falling up
a trail of smoke from neighbours.
from the down, they are smoking,
and from the side, they are smoking.
and I am burning myself - working
and I am burning myself - writing
and when I perform
useful duties
I am not smoking cigarettes
but they are smoking
and I is feeling all, as of smoked fish
because it is my astrological sign
but from under fresh fishes
but it fish, are also smoked good.
not everyone likes, but must(?) not.
it is always possible, instead of the fish,
smoked bacon, and lie on aside.
and... is smoking and... is smoking...
even though a long time ago
she-he... is already smoked
it is feeling...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the clouds.. it is they.. that drift by... over ever it is... that they are.. it is smoking..iip