Here I am born a brilliant mistake from infinity
And the idea of existence reminds me of turtles

Today I am in the room watching the sun evaporate.

To no longer perform in broad daylight,
the apple's a radish for it,
the winter chill a living thing.

It’s a socket—I don’t know how,
but you soon learn to count millions into that province

In the daylight there were
small whimpers made by the African cat

Which is actually a tree
you cannot recognize

The first of the undecoded messages read: “Popeye sits in thunder, 
Unthought of. From that shoebox of an apartment, 
From livid curtain’s hue, a tanagram emerges: a country.” 

The landlady’s wearing her OLD WOMAN costume— 
Shirakawa head-rag, blue droopy bloomers. 
White balloon-sleeve apron top. 

The gulls glide, in 1939, into the bonus of another country, 
the balloons and machinery of all the Europes and Americas, 
a hundred million words at ease in the river, 

It’s time again. 
Tear up the violets 
and plant something more difficult to grow.