My Disappearing Moon

what will not crash, lives,
in a sense in selfless love, and
either arouses one’s sense of
inadequacy or sense of
hypocrisy—we are all doomed
beneath the weight of empty,
toxic space, but she keeps time
perfectly, seems to
rise—we are its brief and
posthumous terror, I’ve read,
its…child, though we’ve
grown bigger, and she has

Amanda turns pages she has
memorised, and hurts into the
deep, deep
navy blue of her varsity wind-
breaker while her music teacher
opens a window they thought was
rusted shut.

Now we attempt to explore
her and find…power,
thunderflashes, the highest,
rarest promises…islands we’ll
find, and float, in utter,
terrible silence, through its
blue rivers, and she will absorb our
holy fantasies, so much so that
while whirling, blushing
blood red across her lilly
skin, she’ll disappear what secrets
make us monsters—she will forget,
for our sake, blessed white

I…have got…to get outta here.
And with three hours left…the
last hour I will hide myself…into the
closet, and maybe I’ll hear things I’m
not supposed to hear, and maybe
I will be the next big thing, this year will
make the former years worthwhile.
I love…everyone but me, and in Summer
I will take up dancing…again, and
meet him by his stepdad’s house as he
pretends to take the recycling out. We
will kiss, and
we will be together,

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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