Day 10

In childhood, I hated the beach.
Sand annoyed me, got everywhere
and I just wanted to be clean,
god dammit.

Today the beach is all I want,
to be whiskey-skinned with
feet dipped in Corona-with-lime surf.
My twenties.

I want my hair to be light
and my flesh dark, reverse
the polarity of my biology, let me
change my ways.

I wont fear death in the ocean.
Entropy may seize me and change
me into something I hated, but
I will be home.

Day 9...awkward...

So let’s assume for a moment
that you’re out there, somewhere.
That you exist, but we have not met yet.
Assuming that fact, let’s say that one night,
maybe in early May or late April,
I take a walk, because winter is over
and everything smells like Eden
(or at least, what I would assume Eden smells like.
God was unavailable for comment.)
So I take my walk, and maybe I’m wearing
a fig leaf, or maybe I’m decked to the nines,
but either way I notice the stars
(because who wouldn’t, they’re straight up gorgeous)
and out of the infinite number of stars that exist
My gaze stops at one in particular,
for no discernible reason. I mean,
they all look the same, right?
But I pick this one, who knows why,
and I stare at it for awhile.
Now, because you exist, out there, somewhere,
you could also be looking at the sky,
and maybe your gaze stops on one particular
star, just like mine did, and you see
where this is going. Maybe it’s the same star.
Why not?
So I’m staring at this star,
and you’re staring at this star,
and it reaches down and takes my hand in it’s own.
Then it takes yours in it’s other hand
and it puts them together.
My hand and your hand, through this star,
in this star,
because of this star.
Even though we have not met yet.

Day 1

Dawn.
Slowly this creature,
    invertebrate,
     appears, born(e) from
the earth, eyes blinking
in the suddenly bright light.

He feels thirst
    for water, for
    adventure. There is little
around him, yet he knows
    where he is.

    In this past life
deep within the dirt,
    crunching rocks
     between broken teeth
and clinging to roots
he had been blind.

    Now the sun beat down
    like a sledgehammer,
his mucous skin shined
and in the light of his first day
he could finally see that he was beautiful.