I was the collective youth in search of the other side of America.
I sure tried my hardest
to flip it like a child turns over a fat lady over on the beach,
just to find his body blanketed in more sand than results.
And lay there, America did.
I tried to dive into it.
I sought out the deepest parts of the continent,
but left with nothing but a
ticket in my pocket reporting my feeble attempts.
I left that beach with nothing but glass in my knuckles
and a silent alarm ringing in my ears.

I was the collective youth that knew their longings
would be satisfied upon their immersion
into the cavernous underbelly of an idealized dream.
That underbelly did come at a cost, though.
A high price was paid to realize that that dream we all shared
is as solid as the evaporation of water.

So I got wet.

I grew up and found joy in the ocean.
Mobilized by salt, my Bible got sand in its binding,
but my skin was happy.


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