GOVERNORS

The whole world already looks like a wolf-lamb of humans-humans. On lost chessboards, the puppets are standing up and moving, - It's true - not a bit free, of their own free will. - The skin shivers, the soul feels warm, the legs carry me between the darkening trees, and when I stop, because where to go and I look up at the sky - below them Even now, Being is thundering and crashing, hypocrisy is snapping like a string.

It's as if everything slips out of one's useless holey hands on purpose. Happy-unhappy, just like the dead-dead-dead-dead, as if it were already an empty word-magic churning, a sticky mass, from which there is no, and certainly cannot be, a recurring restart.

In the streets, the twilight pushes its face into one's soul; the bullet-riddled brick houses, even the drunks swinging like Eötvös pendulums, would collapse and cling to each other if the mortar-concrete still held.

The wall of the castle collapsed, a few hulls rattled below the shore, while the thick foam of the greedy and thirsty Danube threw more and more waves. A thirst for money and greed settled on thirsty souls, like an infectious disease lurking, calculated.

As if squat bean pods were crawling - below are the yellow trams, filled with human seeds. Down in the depths in their Lilliputian destiny - the city is buzzing. Maybe I'm a trampling worm too?! The running of the ant-man is the smallest, yet he directs all the turmoil... My hundred and ten-kilogram body crumbles into dust, I will have no thoughts and no words, the power of electricity carries finer trolls, the power of spirit creates a clean order.