"I am the people’s point of view, a cow, the tropical wind, I sleep under the surface. I am the aristocratic carnivore, I eat form. I drum on cooks’ white caps, I drum on their
aprons, I am the green integration, water flows into the infirmary, there is ice on the boots made of damp. Little drums, flooding Styx, little snouts, a dog snarls in the picture.
A churned temperature, a door, I threw the gold ring into the boiling oatmeal. Here is autumn, destiny has the same sphere, pedestrians stink. New snow falls on snowballs.
The meadow is soaked, scarlet coats, the air whirls, the thicket whirls over the desert. They beat carpets, the color gets up with the sunrise. More people will see me, with sunrise I become morning."
Drums - Tomaz Salamun, 1996