Dublin 8

Never sleep these Dublin spent days in a freshly cleaned kitchen, mouthing words to the incantation. Things don’t change in a little flat where everyone else is sleeping. But I can hear the wind groan on the cement of the apartment block, and there isn’t a trace left of the stale Adirondack air. It once filled the cavern like joy and black, but left as I stepped from the airport and watched the sunrise. The ancient exhaustion rose like carbon from cars, the scent of piss from alleyways, or calloused heels from my walking boots. I found faith in all of these things, and I welcomed them gladly to the former cavity of long expired trepidation and choler. On my first day in the city, I found the fee for entering the Cathedral was more than I had on me, but I’m sure my words were audible. “So this is what it should have been like all this time”.

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