IMAG0017_editedPhilosophies of swimming


  Six of air

               Hermes       god of travelers 

             Ten arrows shoot    Across Oceania

                                             into Azimuth 

no land in sight
truths of
Of Stevie Smith’s
poem of drowning
Not waving
endless promises
of summer nights
are all the
lost days
in a beach tintype
All of the untimed
Waves when I was
Twisted up and
Spit out
All of the night swims
in luxuriant total blackness
temptation to be
Completely disappeared
But having sex instead
Because remember
Dad told me never to swim alone.

It is amniotic
luxuriant memory
whispered now

How to adapt that
freestyle form saved on super-8 film
of Lew Sr’s last swim after that
’61 hurricane
seeing him tear into the
lacerating water
having to fight his way back to shore

Then flashes of him shivering, coughing, smoking a cigarette
“what’s wrong pop?”
His laugh strangled out something about that being his Last swim.
I didn’t know that was sad until later.

Dad was a better diver But I became a better swimmer

Though he never got to see that

but out there past
the breakers
or deep in a dream
likely past azimuth
if we were both 20
He would win the heat
but I would take the distance


The city
Hating aqua concrete
When everything is sterilized
mirror pool
Not easy
To feel

Oceania womb
accumulation of
every movement of the water
in the water

physical state of existence
Outside of conscious thought

Cobalt Ice Breath Cloud~maps

Drilling through the water

Just under the surface

So to be blinded
By motion
And stinging from
clogged sounds
Then crying down to
Bottom for
A lotus sit
How long is it?
Till I hear a
Clean jackknife
slicing the inked chimera

reflected on air
to be whispered in a breath
from July 29 1930

     for Lew Sr.