(Sun Scape)

I have blisters on my fingers.

Every night

(Sunscape)

I walk down to the concrete ocean

dip my fingers in those grainy suds

and watch the water

billowing crimson.

Small fish nip at my fingertips

while I'm laughing, euphoric,

isn't it hilarious

how hungry they are?

I paint with my index finger

sliding it across that liquid gray

small grains of rock and sand

catch in my fleshy pallett.

It is only when the sky and the moon

and the sun are all awake

that I can reach my Watery crescendo.

Exhale, extend both palms upward,

brush away residual flecks,

then, opening my mouth aquatic,

screaming oxygen,

I start with the lines of my tips

and bent in prayer,

forehead to the ground,

with all my might,

all the strength I posess,

I drag my hands,

my arms,

my forehead,

down the pavement.

I mirror the blood of the sun

with the sunscape of my skin.