Atlantis Sinks

When the heat was over we looked back
at a mesmeric waste of memories—it jarred
us it was so intense, the light, we were
aware of the outlines of things, the membrane
of people’s lives where the sun intersected auras,
but at night now, in the storm raindrops prick
like needles in our sides, we watch the ocean
shirtless as it speakless, soundless holds its passion
in its invisible centre like a cauldron—
the dark rocks break the massive waves but
insist on introspection,
like us the tide dances, swirls, rises, falls,
curls inward on itself, moving upward, moving
backward in its chaos, yet advancing always
and without explanation—if we drown we drown,
our speck inside the eye will be the world entire,
there is nothing certain, nothing clear, we
celebrate obscurity with uplifted hands, with
heads, chests, breasts, navels, legs and loins
exposed to what was long ago so brutal, so true,
so determined to be so—there is no clarion call,
Atlantas sinks without a word, come heaven,
and in the deep and silent snow globe of the
ocean thinking creatures soar still
deeper inward, singing “I told you so,”
and secretly to each other, we will see the tells of
their civilisation rise unhallowed, and remember
their blind and joyful dancing in the rain.

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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