PROVISIONING SUMMER NEEDS Comments

Below, the sea waits always

for a wrinkling wind.

Athos Dimoulas

"Supreme Generality"



Some wide-flung windows

hoist Summer up by insect derrick.



I count: a couple of letters

are missing. The bottom rocker of the s

is gone. It had been loose last year.



Now where will all this dimininution sit

with its host of eunuchs?



Still, the diminishing is firm —

it withstands tons of pain. Sit freely.



I think I'll add a recliner to the list

to replace the broken s.



I also need

a small transistor radio

glued to the ears of the waves

tuned to the pirate stations of the sands.

An easily sensitized song reels in

characters that almost match the ones

summer is missing and then some. In case

you remember others. You'll have

plenty of seats.



Filtering glasses too, lest I remember more,

though now and then I do wear smoky contacts.



A hat for the sun

although it blazes less than when

night and day you'd invent it.

I'll try on an old sunburn

curious whether my back's

old crazy passion for it peeled.



New swimsuit — my decline has gained

a lot of weight. In fact, I'd relish

a new body — to sit along its miles and stroke

the airy wrinkles of the sea.

But logic will finally prevail:

the logic of this body at my disposal.



All the sea's Ss one by one

are carefully hoisted bubble-wrapped

in blue transparent water

by seagull derrick.



What sea? Mere

illusionist pirate water —

a distant cosmogony's refugee.

Corruptingly immense

because of the precipitous

and schistic initial temper of the cosmos.

Harlot escape's optical pimp.



What sea?

Time for the logic of the body

at your disposal to prevail.



Get dressed and swim.



(Tear-Dumping Strictly Prohibited.

Maturity already is
rabidly salty on its own.)
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