Stones stick out of the ground
like teeth worn away by sandy wind.
A smile with gaps like the memory of a drunk.
No barrier separates the water from the sky,
and caught up within them,
both strong and weak swimmers
kick out as far as they can.
Boats nod with the waves
as if greeting each other.
Their painted names certificates for souls.
A seagull lands in front of my chair,
and with its beak it bit a cheap cigar.
I think about the people all around me,
watching their reflections in the water,
trying to find some peace
here on the shoreline.
It is painful
that I have become one of them.
I take some matches from my bag
and light the bird’s tobacco
just to see.
Teleporting Typewriter 