not a sailor, nor a ******
the fish I meat, usually,
ends up swimming inside me,
though this one grew up but a mile
of a smile from the Atlantic,
and my grade school fronted
"beach bungalows" where
the teeming, yearning to be free,
went back to the ocean they crossed,
escaping the grief
of pogroms,
for salt water swims to
gain relief
from the summer heat
on Coney's island
all this an aside,
if you do not know by now,
then you shamefully haven't
read by poems sufficiently well,
even today, live on islands
water arounded, and draw my
insertions from rivers that all
empty into the "Ocean" nearby
my ancestral two family home
(we the tenant renters)
yo!to-day
I come to be poetic
about about the ocean annoninted
within me,
the 70% of mass
that is the water within,
upon floats,
my peculiar brain. <nml>
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 12:08 PM UTC
not a sailor, nor a ******
the fish I meat, usually,
ends up swimming inside me,
though this one grew up but a mile
of a smile from the Atlantic,
and my grade school fronted
"beach bungalows" where
the teeming, yearning to be free,
went back to the ocean they crossed,
escaping the grief
of pogroms,
for salt water swims to
gain relief
from the summer heat
on Coney's island
all this an aside,
if you do not know by now,
then you shamefully haven't
read by poems sufficiently well,
even today, live on islands
water arounded, and draw my
insertions from rivers that all
empty into the "Ocean" nearby
my ancestral two family home
(we the tenant renters)
yo!to-day
I come to be poetic
about about the ocean annoninted
within me,
the 70% of mass
that is the water within,
upon floats,
my peculiar brain. <nml>
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