butterfly shells
clipped wings
the ocean curls and crashes
beyond the reef
I umbrella-shade my eyes
cast shadows over overhead sunlight
the glimmer blinds
so prettily
and I swallow all contention
like sand-crusted fried food
It's a kind day at the beach
the clouds grace us with their presence
and I spit out my insurrection, my envy
of such shrouded calm
wafts of cloud, like pink bubbly fairy floss
so sweetly
like a wind-cuffed boat
choked by destiny
we watch the sun bathe down into the ocean
submerged bleeding orange into an obsidian eye, a pearl of blue
don't say I didn't warn you, says the storm
rumbling, grumbling,
toiling and boiling
I've been on this horizon all my life, it growls
little more than petulant lightning
I've never trusted thunder
all bark and no bite
but I believe in this shark-storm if only for the palate of streaked colour
the sky is a wanting canvas
my eyes are needy spectators
the soggy chips are artesian entrees
and the butterfly clips refuse to mount and swoon
So
the recipe is baked; a perfect storm
a pointed knife, carved cataclysm
a catchechism of the repentant earth
we only see the sun sleep
when it knows it's been bad.