The Drowning Pool

Silver cool of letheful water, slows all air-sucked thought with the measured metronome of sweeping, carving limbs. The echo of each dipping arm a vibrating metallic strip whose muffled resonance mind-weaves with eerie rhythm, the rush of steady silence, which punctuates each memory’s clamoured discord.   Here remembered syllables are blurred, the distorted utterance of words lost in disembodied diphthong, except those formed inside my head, mouthed without utterance.   Flashed, shimmering sunlight jewels criss-cross the smooth white glaze which slides beneath my body’s wake, and all those suppressed distractions flood into detached consciousness. A world of sense-transmuted flesh and full-immersed with dragging, floating-lilied touch whose light diffused by muted sound   is one free-flowing, synaesthetic stream.   Truth found in a myriad of bubbles plucked from the surface air. Soul wrapped in the warm-bathed spirit of amniotic birth, drifting without need or purpose towards another twisted turn where lies, and self-deception, show minds have no such boundaries, their drowning-pools won’t let you live to puke a second chance of air this side of sanity.