The ocean is a living fossil testifying in courts of terrifying uncertainty,
Late at night under new born ancient starry skies,
Wave after wave pounding against sandy beach resorts,
Washing away footprints of a thousand fat beerbelly bikini bearded bronzed faces,
Washing ashore seashell memories, lonely grains of shameless sands,
A dancing dream of blue reflected in the eyes of naked Haitian children strolling through their vacationer-less coastlines littered with first world comforts: glass coke bottles, broken ragged plastic wrappings, grotesque green or orange packagings so unearthly,
The great connected oceanic waters creeping from all destinations to arrive in angry explosions of foamy crashing splatters on the windy wharfs of Los Angeles coasts, liquid with infinite itineraries soaking jutting rocks of Cape Cod, endless stretches of wiggling waves kissing acres of Canton rice patties,
In the dark ununderstandable clothing of blackness the ocean wears at night,
With my fragile freckled feet firmly footed in dark brown sand feeling mushy like mush,
Waiting for the terrifying tide to return,
To cool my boiling human heart throbs,
A moment passes,
Where possibilities of hellish demonic fears smother my eyes shut, knowing I’m doomed to cry, be alone, linger in limbo-like life loveless and sleepless, like laughter hides loneliness like plastic surgery, knowing I didn’t choose to be born and I didn’t choose to die,
And then the rushing cold wet watery wave washes over my warm ankles shaking, shivering my soul, shaking all the dead soul-skin leaves out of my sob story self, cool cool soothing smooth water, foamy white waves rolling closer in the night like white smiles against black faces, nothing to do but smile back.
