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Apr 2013
Morning
Tastes like coffee,
The aftertaste of a childhood
Back when we paced ourselves
When a day was a day, not a complaint,
We picked up any old shell and said
β€˜Listen, the ocean!’
Now that we’ve grown up we know that
Its only our own hearts echoing in our ears,
Reminding us that we still have a pulse
And if you think about it,
Does it mean that we are just waves?

So I wake up thinking about how
We call it daylight savings time but the only thing we are saving is ourselves,
Preserving our subconscious in all the words we never wanted--
We erased them, but the words we do our best to make disappear
Are the ones sheltered in eraser shavings,
Brushed to the floor and tracked everywhere
On the shoes we wear from place to place,
Haunting us with the very things we are running to escape.
But pushing the clock forward an hour
Will do nothing to make you run faster
Will not hold the tide in place for you to catch
Only invalidate the time you have taken to progress

And the thirty foot jump off the pier in pitch black is worth it
For the bioluminescence that swells up around us--
Is that the daylight we misplaced
When we tried to save it?
Is it the waves or your heartbeat you hear
Trapped in the bubbles of cool night air
that we take with us as we plunge home into the ocean
Thomas McEnaney
Written by
Thomas McEnaney
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