3/09/2004

Inside the whale

It is warm, but there’s a decided lack of dryness;
I wish I could get a television signal.

I spend hours playing chess, with a glop of rotting plankton
--it mates me in 12 moves;
I haven’t been this upset since the moray eel called
my momma a whore.

Tonight I’m thinking of making a pass at the blowhole.

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