S.W.I.M

Swim sees talking heads on the colour TV. La la la, they can’t see me. Swim knows they talk in ego-tongues, while their ignorance blissfully burns.

We won’t care, Swim says inside Swim’s head. Our words are dust before we’re dead.

Perfect neighbours give Swim dirty looks. Nasty vibrations from the roots.

Save me, Swim thinks, inside Swim’s mind. From all the thoughts that are unkind.

Take me, Swim pleads but then says no. It’s not time yet to up and go.

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