Some say/ we're grains of sand/ me and you and billions of people we'll never ever meet/ moving like waves over this planet/ and beyond this planet/ is atmosphere/ beyond that/ moon and sun and stars/ and universe and beyond that...
I believe we're too urbane for the tide/ and at the center of creation/ that infinite moment/ is a card table/ where unborn prophets and their muses/ lively up and settle down/ talk shit like poker players/ in a single suited hand: diamonds/ I see your Apollo's chariot riding dirty/ and raise you Oshun tip-toe-ing down Myrtle Ave/ leaving marigolds in her wake...
The sands were once solid/ earthen, rock, hard/ broken down by time/ yet still we stand/ defiantly staring/ perhaps dumbly into the sun/ no we don't defer to the tide/ we don't wash away/ we savor the burn
It's been said/ that you and I are mere grains of sand/ malleable and movable/ melt down into glass/ /shards reflect light/ catch color and shine/ but really tho/ we're too dynamic/ too much hand clappin to sit/ still and be made over...
We meet on street corners/ like they were riversides/ to talk about Jesus too much/ to not be church folk/ I say/ the sand's too simple/ too benign/ too separate and lacking will/ when we reside at the epicenter of contradiction/ we remember yesterday/ have hopes and fears for tomorrow...
we're the product of beauty's marriage to malice/horribly marvelous/ and unapologetic for being.
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