You shake yourself awake in the cold North Atlantic water. You are not online. It is July of 1858. You are a baleen whale, and you have changed your mind. The future most not come to pass. The telegraph cable must break.
You shake yourself awake in the cold North Atlantic water. You are not online. It is July of 1858. You are a baleen whale, and you have changed your mind. The future most not come to pass. The telegraph cable must break.
Dress me In finery.
Strangle me neatly then lay me prone in the muck.
Think that’ll appease the old gods?
We remember their ancient rites even if we have forgotten names.
The tannins will darken my flesh in anoxic obscurity
Like a nap under a weighted blanket
Dress me In finery.
Strangle me neatly then lay me prone in the muck.
Think that’ll appease the old gods?
We remember their ancient rites even if we have forgotten names.
The tannins will darken my flesh in anoxic obscurity
Like a nap under a weighted blanket