REPENT

Walking the small coastal
town’s streets, the man
repeated the word,
bellowing it into thunder
from behind the
horizon line splitting
the ocean and sky.

That straight horizontal line
where, if you wanted,
you could label
heaven and hell,
and you could believe this on
luscious days with that sky glowing
— but the ocean remaining coy
and not giving you even a little hint
of the (sharks octopus) danger
that swims down in the deep where
sunlight dares not venture
and your lungs refuse to work.

REEEE-PENT
he’d bellow and
you could hear him
     streeeeets over
REEEE-PENT
he’d bellow and
you’d shake your head
and think oh him again
REEEE-PENT
he’d bellow
and a small mouse voice
in your head would whisper
but you don’t want to
be dragged down to those
     dark watery dangerteeth depths
or burn in some hellvolcano
so maybe you should listen
REEEE-PENT
he’d bellow
and you’d look up in the
sky to see if you could see
the sound waves of his word rising.

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