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You're quiet thunder
I hold storms behind my teeth
Still you heard the rain
If the sun never shines again,
And these clouds never clear?
Well, I've always loved the rain
And someone else will love it here.
We were etched deep into settled sand,
waiting as slow marine snow rained upon us,
you and I stared up at the endless abyss with empty irises,
for who knew how long.

In autumn, a luminescent shadow descended upon us,
giant, overhead,
we eyed the beast, it’s magnificent beauty,
and suddenly, our two halves were met across the perfect body:
on the night of the whale fall.

Used to gnawing hunger; we shared,
******* from the same dead monster with empty stomachs,
I glimpsed you laughing, with shining blubber on your lips,
and there my heart was pierced silently with barnacle and shattered shell,
in the mystic forever darkness.

I implanted my hope and my roots into new rocks,
to view what I might see of our deepening story
- and in long nights I imagined you, swimming in light,
whilst I knew that in our deep black world
there could be no such thing.

I had hoped that you might stay to see our whale decay,
although you never did say
anything about her.

I scoured her sleek bare bones
where you picked at her husk with lazy teeth,
I found her secrets, and you grazed her surfaces;
silently eying brighter places.

I yearned for us to intertwine with her empty rib cage,
swaying in sync to the winds of the ocean,
yet the same breezes I danced to
only ever seemed to drift you down foreign currents.

I had hoped we might have love to tether us, but your wandering spirit
saw the faint moonlight of the shallows
and chased it,
unaware we were destined to stay
in this high pressure.

Once again, lying under slow falling marine snow,
I now wish we did not share
the same end;
as the mother whale
on the night of her whale fall.
In Dublin in December I sat
on a shore bench in Sandymount

& watched thunderheads strut
on stork legs of raking rain while

bullish boats trundled through
with taut cheeks sobbed with rime.

My heart was full of weeks of doubt,
I'd flown in on a night plane

aching with the knowing
that something was badly turned,

distance could no longer be borne,
all the miles within and without.

We drank, coupled, and confessed
through long, long nights as outside

the high open window the stars
sloughed their waffling shine into

the many arms of the river, and gulls
eavesdropped on desperate sins.

By day she showed me her city
of castles and secret gardens,

elephant bones and electric trees,
& quietly urged me to join her.

As we crossed Beckett bridge
to seek troubled love on her couch

we pierced a cold and hanging fog,
prehaunted by the loss that followed.
Although this happened six years ago now, it feels like it happened to a different person in another lifetime. But the person mentioned contacted me again recently out of the blue and so I thought I might write about whatever feelings were dredged up.

I don't know that it says anything I haven't said before about what happened. I might revise it at some point, maybe.
silence does what silence is

a door opens

and you enter in.
I love you
And I can not believe I get to meet you
To touch you
To kiss you
You are too beautiful to be true

But here I am
Singing songs to the sun
Every time you write to me.
There’s a monster living under my skin,
It hums lullabies in a voice like sin.
It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t roar.
It just waits... behind the door.

It’s soft-spoken, wears my smile,
Walks in my steps, stays awhile.
It knows the cracks behind my eyes,
Where all the dead dreams lie.

It isn’t sharp—it’s patient and slow,
It dances in places no one should go.
It sips on memories like bitter wine,
And chews on thoughts that once were mine.

It curls around my mother’s name,
And whispers that I’m just the same.
It counts the days I’ve held my breath,
Then offers comfort dressed like death.

People say, “You’re healing now,”
But they don’t see the sacred vow—
Me and it, we made a truce,
It feeds on pain—I stay the noose.

I try to scream, but it just grins,
Wearing my face like borrowed skin.
And every time I think I’m free,
It locks the door and swallows me.

You wouldn’t know it to look in my eyes—
But something in me never dies.
I laugh. I love. I play pretend...
But the monster’s always watching…
waiting…
for the end.
Hot
Wet
Dripping

Down my chin
Slurping
A cup of noodles

As I work
to improve
My grades

69° Incline
through
the peaks

To get to school
Everyday
Several times
A day

Water
falling
Torrential

Ahead
Behind
The road bends

We navigate
All of the curves

We test.
Who scores?
We all win

The exam?
Oral.
Written--

Later.

Hands on
Experience.
Labs?

More like
gym.
With laps.

Or, scaling
a syllabus
like it’s greased.

Either way,
Sweaty.

After,
Philosophy.
(Don’t worry, we’ll pass.)
Unison of us.

Call it
praxis.
The theory of two—
proved.

No syllabus
for this subject.
We just wrote it—
together.

I passed.
Barely.
Still—
summa *** laude.

🫛🥜
For everyone over at Harvard
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