inside of whales 

here everyone is a prophet. 
we do shadow puppets
on the whale walls 
& talk about the old world
of air. we all say 
"before this life i was a..."
& so on & so on. i was just
a sandpiper & my legs took me 
like lit matches towards the eyes 
of gods. the whales are not whales
but tractor trailers. the ocean has static
& lost umbrellas. someone asks,
"would you like to call home?"
their cell phone is a blush compact.
i would like to call home. puppet of a rabbit.
puppet of a brother. bone into shadow.
the whales are full of xylophones.
play a song about the beginning. apples 
& snakes & a garden of green glass bottles.
some of us were swallowed. some of us
were walking our darkest nightmares.
woke up in the pink of the whale. organ 
& sea salt. brushing our hair with the baleen.
there are no enough monsters. there are
not enough windows. ways to escape.
the need comes urgent in the deep.
when i know we are passing a shipwreck
of ghosts. i think. here. let me off.
let me become one of them. a gas station
burning blue. beacons of ever species.
i use my phone flashlight to go deeper.
there, a statue of jonah. his eyes 
are krill. his words come popcorning 
across the ground. i do not tell him
but i aspire to live a mythology.
to be uncovered. to be cavernous.