sand dollar

bomb shell turtle

-kameron cole, miami beach 2012

there she lay.
it was her there, on the sand.
cupped by the warm sand, her brown skin slaked its thirst
on the gold sun and the wind exfoliated her limbs,
and something like scales fell from her eyes.
and she rose.
and was baptized*.

the soft sand again cupped her soft breasts,
and the sea turtles were confused,
and the lonely-hearted.

a brown bomb shell –
but a shell –
the intricate ignition inside had been tampered with, and, perhaps,
the explosives had already been detonated.
the heart. the soul. the love-light. all inflammable.

* Acts of the Apostles 9, 18


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