Friday, March 06, 2009

Koknese Aizkraukles Swims

Koknese Aizkraukles swam the length of the channel in one breath, stopping when his fingertips made contact with the cement railing. Not even the littlest dogman could swim the channel on one lungful of air, making it halfway, his once pink lungs weighed down with salt, the second breath taking him to the other side, the cement skinning his forehead.

Koknese Aizkraukles swam the channel 27½ time before disappearing for good, leaving behind a pair of wet swimming trunks and rubber nose plugs. People come and go, leaving traces of themselves behind; signs of life and death. Lela ran her hand across the railing leading down to the aqueduct, splinters picking at her skin. ‘…I wonder where he’s gone, one last breath and off he went…’.

Swimming on her belly, her arms and legs above the surface, her back curving into the oncoming current. ‘…one last breath and off he went, cutting the waves like an otter…’. Neither the dogmen nor the rector’s assistant saw fit to appeal, the congregants lining up for free biscuits and plum sweeten wine. All feasts end with a becoming, one man’s wafer another man’s curd. The day ended as it had begun, the sky chasing nighttime from the closet of sleep. Its never too late to learn a new trick, ever.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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