The dogs will find the Zanba-to, the sword of the Slum King is blowing in the wind.
In an evening of this winter, two of haiku poets pouring their own sake each other, are there. Or, drinking in this winter, two of the disabled pouring their own sake each other, are there.
Getting a windbill, near the signboards, I've thrown up. Or, broken the appointment, (so I've drunken until) the doors closed, I've thrown up.
Let's start a fresh, and hang yourself.
The bronze statue of a naked girl, wondering when it will be coated with verdigris, this spring has not come, yet.