my thoughts convene
to follow you
the messiah
in their thousands

clamoring;
condemn
me to hell and i
shall suffer, eternally

to mix colors first
the possibility of taking what i know
and obliterating it
for a holocene
a vibrant tabula rasa
forged by my gooey green and yellow fingers
a manifestation in blue

or
whats left of it
is gathered
into a thin stack
of failed
polaroids

anger
black and bold
worms that flash from my eyes
and run down my boiling
cheeks and raw throat
fighting
to keep the roaring tempest in
i say something
whipping off my tongue
that i will regret

he took his boy
down to the water
alone in that salty
white sun
and sat on the washed- up concrete
touching the sand
before bicycles and old ladies
with their flowery dresses and their
tinkling bangles
and wide swaying hips selling
their mangoes from a cardboard sign
and the boy went into the water
blackening his shorts
ribs tight beneath his ebony hide
and ran up against the shore
casting his arm like a shakespearean
bitten fingernails cupping
as his brown hands and scored fingers
dripped with the sharp *** of seaweed
he had brought for his father
with nothing else to do
on the monday afternoon

we went down
with our cold steel tempests
swollen lips screaming
out aggressive effervescence
watching the tide
break the backs of those tendrils
gripping onto the coral heads
and twist them in the dark blue

was happiness
in every broken way