Dead Whale From Melville

You gave the secret sign/you stood right by the punch bowl/it’s midsummer on your back porch../ You can think only/of dorsal fins from that book /you fill the air with porch talk./Ducts of the sun open/ onto sleepy flats/your Kools, your Maybelline,/ you wore stolen black gloves./I harpooned your chest/ months too early./ I wouldn’t wait/for a hale notation/ from your breathing/I probed instead./I mastered your brutal method/based on what you said./Shadow cast from your gait/ on neon palisades,/I behold you withholding.

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