in a
faraway seaport foams gush
and force
a salty smile on the corner of your mouth
the young
sailor who likes to wager he won't catch cold
from seagulls'
flapping wings is presently at a bar putting
long fake
eyelashes on his girl so she won't see clearly
the warning
signal from the bell tower
they conspire
to get the evening sky drunk and ignite
the flames
of passion to burn the blind eyes of the stone lion
and wait
for its maddening tail to strike down the last lamp
so they
can begin forging a sun of stainless steel to surprise tomorrow
all afternoon
you lie under an umbrella reading a skin lotion ad
quietly listening
to a tan voice kicking an empty seashell
“ the blacks
are holding a demonstration again
I don't want them to be my
neighbors”
