I was listening to too much Tallest Man on Earth, and wrote a song called I'm Going Swimming

(this rhymes and doesn't rhyme in parts...it's rough, and if you want to put it to music, feel free. In my mind, it is finger-picked and sung with a lilt, a little fast & folky)

I'm building diamond mines in Africa, my chest.

I doubt the workers will be getting any rest

too soon, but if I were you

I'd think about the cliffs in Martha's Vineyard and if

I were you, I'd paint them just a shade grayer,

or two. At 32 degrees

the snow will pile on my heart and leaves

will tell us stories of the wet and the blue.

If I were you, I'd head off to the south

and there I'd live without the fear

of stains of onion on my fingertips,

then touch my lips. I once heard a story

of a nosebleed that filled the world with blood,

I think it was the Nile, I might have read that

in a book somewhere. Classical literature.

Was it Dante or the Aeneid that said love

was floating above me, floating
like those glass-like bits of beauty

when we look up from under water.

And time, it is reflective of the glass-like

bits of pain, the breath we breathed accidentally again:

sometimes I can't see (x3) when I'm swimming.