taking them off I find
in one of my shoes a
ticket stub for the movie
about a man who
wrote a book then
spent forty years drinking
himself to death about it.

seasound of traffic
on the PCH.

I lay two hours on my side
on sand like a lizard who
has just eaten, foreplaying
with the sand with my
scraggly toenails. in the park

at the top of the cliff
the cannons guard the
seaside against the Japs
sixty years late and
the dark men sleep.