The first epistle comes out of the broken parts of the ship
And the tumult of the seagulls
In a turbulent night
From amidst the naked bodies on the cool sands
Maroubra Beach, Malabar Beach, Bronte Beach,
La Perouse (Does it taste French?)
Who is standing on the deck and shouts: Land! Land!
And a new world is born
And the first epistle formed
With gravels and jellyfish
And the bare sound of waves at night
And the terrified souls of the sailors
Beaten on the coast with each wave and repulsed
And the black flags with broken skulls patrol the seas
One-eyed pirates
Hide the world treasures in unknown islands
New islands emerge
Lands are born
And cover the body of ocean
Like small warts

-A weekly ticket-
And a tour round the harbor
Side by side couples moving from one café to another
To whom the bridge pillars and the wall corners are bedroom curtains
And the park grass
Their wedding bed
- With your permission Captain Cook-
Amigo, Amigo, Amigo
And the wave of crowd with the odor of Paris perfume
And the sweat of women who have danced till dawn
- With your permission Captain Cook-
And the empty beer cans floating on the waterways

The first epistle ends
And an astringent taste remains in the mouth
From a night of happy drink in the everlasting vertigo of sounds and laughters
Hurrah!

- Stop, we shall get off