There's water weight holding down my stomach,
as a ship of fools that's packed to the brim
does sink and swim–a sub supra hammock-
like flows and feelings over waters swim:
But queasiness is learning to be real,
so I'll slurp up the salty water waves-
each new blue depth reached has a different feel:
The surface kills, but the swanrad saves:
My stomach rumbles, tumbles like the sea,
under the gentle guidance of the moon;
my heart, like an oar might beat, propels me
into dead-end dreams that just end too soon:
But to wake is to watch, to learn, to swim.
I flood my belly with flow to the brim.
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