"236 miles into the Atlantic.." the captain crackles,
I find the foils of snow and sand here,
dust and ridges etched ashore on Andes
mountain tops and the way
the wind seduces the elements to dance only
for her to laugh and slap down.

The escargot and garlic alligator
shift, below in crates. The drunken
feet stumble to the jazz of the
ocean and the timbre of the coconut ***
on their way to the formal dinner promised
in  this passage of escape. They saunter
but the ocean's sighs harmonize with her laughter.

"At night the opal blue sinks beneath black
but," she says, "I still see the jovial mist's blue dance."
So we toast with Shiraz and join the drunken
music with our drunken neighbors, souls drunk
and eyes feasting on oil candles and neon CARNIVAL
shot glasses that aid us, the broke, to run harder
into the night and away from the damnation of land.

I, you all, know that is what this is,
what vacations, rest, water, Advil, sunscreen
all promise and whisper and ****** until
they force your feet to dance so they
can laugh as they slap you down ashore,
awake,  thirsty, throbbing, burnt into the reality
you left for the past five glorious days.

Ah, and glory- you see?
The majesty of the waves and allure
of purple and green fade when compared,
remember? Nature is symmetry and
the depravity of pain pales in comparison
to the glory of salvation. Look to the sea,
see where Christ walked.