Expectations of Genius

My little sea
Over there, past the beach,
Flags of umbrellas
Planted
Dunes of fools. No
not fools
I write myself into a corner,
No, not a corner
A cliff edge,
to jump from
Into my lonely little sea.
Theres a scotsman behind me in this
Beach Bar
draft ale over us both 
A scotsman, no
A tourist.
Bukowski owns Bukowski
I want to own the sea
In it, evidence of God,
I'll swim about-
You spear me,
No,
Spare me, Romeo