On ocean’s endless brink
the blue, the bloodlike geranium
daybreak drowns the slow
poetic motions of their bellies,
breaching earth’s last limit,
entering enemy tempests—fins flap
against the current, and our shores
somewhere become memories
and we haunt ourselves with
seasongs, we blend into the grey,
we with keening, withering sinner’s
hearts beg for affection, brave
unbearable heat and talk of
torture, we inter our escaping myths
in steel and deafening sound—
roaring, our artificial lighting cursing
the kingfisher’s rest and blaspheming—
soundless our hearts are screaming:
save our souls, give us purpose,
send our flesh, wretched flesh, ashore

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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