Black ground sand and volcano That terrible sky looms above me Red ochre and painted albinos & not a tree for the Sea to see. Magenta and birds by the score Flying away from the shadows Out of the God head blood pours Magma in jutting crescendos. Gulls solid gray cry to wind As the Island, my prison, sinks Off the cliffs I relinquish my sin Death to the last of your links. No shooting stars, or Borealis The night is an inky void casted Beach has a swell full of madness If only that sunset had lasted.