I take the black sea with my black coffee

I can't stay away from this island;

I pour hot coffee down my throat

while I stand out on deck at 2 a.m.

this is what being a poet is all about, I guess.

Obsession,

or obsessing over the things that make you feel something,

anything.

I run my pen under the faucet in the sink

to get one more verse to spill from it,

I can't afford new ones

and I always loose the rest.

I watch the sea

and write these lines.

Echo, maybe I believe

but like a new born, in these words I am conceived.