I'm so near to heaven, that I'm too close to hell.
when you smile, baby, there's nothing I can choose;
forget the plans, and let my animal run loose:
swimming across the countryside,
starting at green iron pool fed by a well.
Subterranean stream under emerald pin-
cushion trees inlaid, swim its length to home!
drop social mores, naked as a poem!
The Bunkers, Gilmartins, and Clydes...
pools I've prayed at and pools where I've sinned.
I'm so close to heaven, I'm too near to hell!
cold gin with a twist within my reach -
Circe's scarlet warmth spread on the beach -
step down, babe religion - let it ride...
I palm the tawdry key of her motel.
Reading John Cheever's The Swimmer, and seeing the Burt Lancaster film based on it.