Whales surface in Tuscany

The last audible sound was the slab blubber heave
the wet towel slump of washing from the drum
last thoughts of true grit and ligaments
hills under foot rose around the aching curve of bone and bones
while backronyms populated lists with the crashworthiness of love
      so I'm having a pint of O'Hara's in Ittolittos
with The Barbarian and we get talking     at least I do     about The Mermaid Problem
and the pros and cons of Vibrolas on SGs
Andy has a tattoo of the Aleutians seen from space on his forearm
it bends like a Floyd Rose as he drains his glass
      we agree that the mermaid at the checkout
ain't exactly La Zemanova, though she does clutch the keys
to all four chambers of our hearts
her fluke thump messes completely with my echolocation
to the point that consciously breathing
I end up beached on     or perhaps      in
this Tuscan field, all gelled up with nowhere to go
                                                                     thar she blows! gagged the Witch
                                                      fusiform forearm fore-wipe
                            a sleeveless wrist bone trap of weird silver bracelets
                 the leash of metal in hot weather
her ash dye tramp stamp        an arched
        brocaded     koi     framing
                   addorsed regardant squid beaks
                                                     a cornification device
we set out to scan the shelves for draught flow and chitins
but I am hopelessly drawn to a Bluetooth jaw hands-free kit
with Velcro three-day stubble attachment
suited     the box says     to whale-speak
bile duct tape (included) will help remove
an airful of wireless bycatch:
MMSed screen shots of Geri in keratin shorts on a pod racer
hindered with Spice tunes and repetitive tab
           ambergris necklaces
                   chagcha ringtones
and If you hadn't called me on a land line
I would text you a wisp of this mud-free Friulian Burgundy
its widely acclaimed memoir retrundling qualities
enhanced by silkworms
who lit the slipway
           the land-locked gape
                   of the last Leviathan yawn

Milan         April 2007