poem excluding escape

at every shoreline, an inner city,

oceans panhandling for waves;

everything but movement was poverty,

clouds incorporate into a sclerosis.

no one photographs what they've seen

in photographs, Kodak Tri-X capturing

black and white in a socially distanced

saturnalia; color orgies, sans intercourse.

grains of sand fill with nursery rhymes,

become a music box's pins to comb through;

London Bridges plays in jaundiced notes,

frequencies feel like the spots on a bruise.

the Earth's exoskeleton doesn't have hips,

asana are the many shapes of a hug goodbye;

we tanned into camouflage in corpse pose,

chakras flashing SOS, without flashing SOS.