thin curling along the length of split whiskey-leaves up and back again like the smoke it creates when cool and humid, it lingers, drawing Noah on the wall leaning over a stone for rest.the whale, bleeding, in my belly, begging since that day on the plane where, as it were, i had not had a drink of water. thirst not quenched by esspresso, and body still moving although sitting.
the whale continuing in it’s pursuit of escape, pressing and pulling in the corridor. I had been confused as a childs’ uncle, which proved to be almost fatal. fell I, into the whales’ ignorance, a concoction of cranberries and apples. spitting up on sand that which I had crept. and in it’s creeping, I had slept.
was i to be a curled ball like the drawing or the smell of pipe?
