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When I finally became the King's number
I promised myself I'd be reborn,
I thought about becoming
a better person while my feet were
ankle-deep in sewage water
masquerading as the ocean,
foam too solid left behind by waves and
quivering in the onslaught of a gentle breeze
like an upside-down baptism
for the god in me
I made only by believing and only for me,
and this

may not be a promise I can keep,
realization rising like the
empty life guard towers looking down
on the dunes sustaining fleshy green stalks
as ladybugs crawl out of my footprints
and foam rolls across the dry sand like
tumbleweeds wreathed in gunsmoke.

I fear what I have in common with the ocean
is all the worst of us.