The ocean, too, refracted red-ish
as the sun set.
When paradise burned, it was
blamed on the whores.
What civilizations of sluts
walked this coastline before us!
We converted the nipple-baring
heathens with a bell and a crook.
Deep we drilled
we killed
we blood thirsted over black and gold,
and the red flowed
in salt water stream beds.
It rained ash while my
tears synchronized with the ebbing sea.
I bled, too, but swallowed
my sobs so as not to breach the dam.
Instead I was corralled
by the tide on my atoll,
angry white waves spewing rage
at my ankles.
Thinking I had a way with
words, I sang to them to be
gentle, knowing they’d only listen
if I was among them.
So I set sail needing to grieve alone,
yet solitude could not be found
anywhere except on the sand.
If it never cools down again,
this is where I want to be
entombed.