胖夫人第一个出来，把鼓皮拔出来，把鼓皮弄湿。那个把垂死的章鱼翻个底朝天的胖女人。那个胖女人，月亮的对手，正穿过街道和废弃的建筑物，在角落里留下鸽子的小头骨，激起上个世纪宴会上的愤怒，召唤面包的恶魔穿过天空中干净的山丘，把对光明的渴望过滤到地下隧道里。墓地，是的，墓地和埋在沙子里的厨房的悲伤，死者，野鸡和另一个时代的苹果，把它推到我们的喉咙里。在呕吐物的丛林里，有空荡的女人，有热蜡的孩子，有发酵的树，还有不知疲倦的侍者，他们在唾液的竖琴下奉上一盘盘盐。别无他法，孩子，吐吧!没有别的办法了。这不是骠骑兵在妓女乳房上的呕吐物，也不是无意中吞下青蛙的猫的呕吐物，而是用粘土手在云和甜点腐烂的燧石门上挠来挠去的死者。从船上、酒馆和公园来的人群中，胖夫人走在最前面。呕吐物在几个乞求月亮保护的小女孩中间，小心翼翼地摇着它的鼓。 Who could imagine my sadness? The look on my face was mine, but now isn't me, the naked look on my face, trembling for alcohol and launching incredible ships through the anemones of the piers. I protect myself with this look that flows from waves where no dawn would go, I, poet without arms, lost in the vomiting multitude, with no effusive horse to shear the thick moss from my temples. The fat lady went first and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies where the bitter tropics could be found. Only when a flag went up and the first dogs arrived did the entire city rush to the railings of the boardwalk.