never know: a pissed-off letter to jack johnson

just– just,
as if it were a paltry thing
to be like rivers in depth and silence
and cacophonous, violent as rain;

only,
as if shuddering currents
transitioning to crashing, crushing waves
were only flickers on a cosmic radar,
the spectrum of flesh merely cast-off smears of pigment
on a universal palette–

you thumb your nose at their kind
as if you can damn the ocean for the drowned who sleep in his arms
without taking into account the warmth of his embrace–

but you will sleep under his rain,
smile at its kiss on your face
and delight in the flick of aeolian wrist
as fingers stroke your hair

you will bathe in his shallows
humming to the music of his thunder,

you will find bliss in the caress of his warm tongue
lapping at your skin in the evening
all while expounding upon his violence,
writing curses in the sand of his shores.

you will damn man while you delight in his beauty–

because you are merely human.

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