deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to Water
They were windsurfing on the lake today.
Storm Kathleen was rolling in after all
and so I watched them on a jetty
skim the waves with all the grace
of Bambi on ice.
The sports club owns that one—
charges exorbitant fees to dive
as well as insisting on wet-suits
and tow-floats and lifeguards
and other shit sucking the life
from wild experiences.
I don’t swim there.
I refuse to be sanitised
and maybe as forty looms
I carry with me the spirit
of my anarchic era
all Doc Martens
and piercings
and the pink dreads I twisted
into a feral nest on my head
because we were all young
and savage once.
Thought about it, sat there.
How everybody owns something.
How so little is truly free.
Truth is, I’d of dived head first
into that flash given the chance.
abandoned the boardwalk
and land
and chair
front-crawled arm over fist
below the cold spring sun
because I’m tired of fees
on my life, my world,
my worship.
I want to remain priceless—
sink into the velvet world,
her vibrant, precious arms.
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