Fat Man Swimming 

Hugh Behm-Steinberg

Now that I’m fat I carry another body, I know what I’m doing I don’t have to think about it. My
breath is someone else’s breathing. That it can be trusted, though I don’t trust it. That it grows
handsome though I’m not even sure I’m looking at it. And all around me. Meaning not a body but
to see what is still waving. They are swimming and you are swimming and I swim beside myself,
buoyant as petals, as the other way, or very small things. A body which is not my body, I lead it
around, I look both ways. Like falling into both kinds of heaviness. Like lifting myself/myself
getting lifted.