With Charles Bukowski (collage)

I get off the second floor
among houses Coronado street rise
as the moon over the ocean eye

it is night
a night stretched on cubic stones
a delusive dust rope
life going down

you
angel shadows on the soul

oh

seagulls gliding in the sky womb
the frozen ocean drowned light
yes
I talk with your fingers on heart

when I drink
I listen to the radio
I know not exactly who sings
each time the same voice
that I cannot understand

when I woke up on the sand I was thirsty
to drink bitter wine

the poet sits on the window site

"there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she puts her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shines all over that thing

whiles the music played. "

yes
every time when I drink hard
the moon lay on dams

between me and poem
our traces like dead time