Other Californian poems

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In the country
In the country of my ancestors
I feel nothing so far but difference
Maybe I should be like those surfers
Looking at our lands with indifference



On the beach

The sickly smell of your own frying skin
reminds you, from time to time gets into you
then disappears against the salty breeze.
You are. You are. You are... incapable to even think
about reaching that factor 40 bottle
right in front of your lobster-like nose.

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