The whales could die any day now. That’s all I’m saying. There could be these barnacles filled with fluid that drip-drip into the sea. Where the whales are. The barnacles are not attached to the boats, due to the paint painters put on the helm and the stern and some of the sailors have paint on their pants. That’s all I’m saying about painting containing perverse materials and lots of orangutans.
It does the barnacles in as well as the oyster drillers in the seas beside France.
That’s what they’re saying in France. Until these little oysters flapping underneath the sea got lost.
Because the boys and the girls grew these little oyster penises. What this penis is, is all I’m saying about the coastal regions. The boats go over the barnacles, having no oysters inside them to eat and having no baby oysters.
We do get very upset and so do the whales. They want orders filled and they don’t like barnacles and they like oysters too. But they cannot hear us. The outer hairs of their inner ears, gone, oh no more whale songs, no more sympathy. This big deaf whale swims with its big dumb face right up, nothing, look.
Published in Spirits Magazine 2011