reflections in the eye

my fingers touch the water

my fingers touch the water

the sun is almost down

empty streets

the sound of a humming piano

white table cover with red

stains

empty wine glasses smelling

like a straight dog’s fur

cigarette burns in the pants

shaking body

and it’s bad time for Jazz

and there is no time for Symphony

no time

my fingers touch the water

the fish cry.

Peycho Kanev is 28 years old. He loves to listen to sad music while he drinks slowly his beer. His work has been published in Word Riot, Gloom Cupboard, Poetry Cemetery, Nerve Cowboy, The Chiron Review, The Guild of Outsider Writers, Spoken War, Side of Grits, Southern Ocean Review and many others. He loves to put the word down and not talking on the cell phone for days. He is nominated for Pushcart Award. He lives in Chicago. Alone.