Be blue and green, beautiful, as the ocean is.

Eyes open under water -
See my feet tangling up
her hair,
treading seaweed to ash.

A giant wave washes her nacreous smile.
She is the rocky shoreline
dragging him over her naked body.

His indefatigable love for her
prevents him from drowning,
a most compassionate man.

She is beyond the pages of fashion.
There is more to her
than what can be bought or sold.

Anti-advertisement slogans
tagged over my black and white face
are licked clean by her smoky rumble.

We are upside down angels.
Our wrist watches have stopped ticking
at ten past noon.
This spa is free . . .

The hot sand banks of Carmel River Beach
cure the itch of cold skin.
Our bodies are dusted in silver and black,
and we plunge back to her icy depths,
rinsed clean.

This world is melting.
Our liquid planet, so big -
Sometimes we roll in its valleys,
other times we rise in his mountains;
we rest our backsides along its prairies,
and dive downward into her canyons.

Her heart is a compound of hydrogen and oxygen.
Our heads are above it, bodies below.
We hold breath and join her,
cradled in all knowing omnipotent force.

We are the kid sounds of summer.

Trumpets made from seaweed vine,
music through hollow tubes;
words sung out: "Reasonable! Manageable!"
But there is no controlling her changeable mood.

I used the root of her hair as a bullwhip,
lashed out against 'the general malaise,' stasis,
and the belief of atrophy.
She covered me with truth's unyielding reflection,
shattering my façade with her merciful blanket.

I dreamed we floated away to unexpected places,
like the La Brea Tar Pits of Los Angeles,
where pop stars and Hollywood icons
are in idolatrous romance with this day's politician.

One stands on the head of the other;
their halos have been replaced with ball and chain,
and all are swallowed in an ink well
with no quills for oars.

I awoke, and we returned to the ocean
to break the sopor.
I imagined ourselves
to be like the colored rocks children buy,
the ones that grow into castles under water.
I imagined a dragon flying over us
in pursuit of a hurricane of razor blades
lifting the semi-trucks traveling
our double-lane highways (in the name of commerce)
into the eye of it,
and sending them not crashing down on us,
but shredding them like yellowed newsprint
into a rainstorm of dimes.