the Devil scrapped his knees
before eating the tongue of the whale—
i heard those whale songs soothing my head
down to sleep. the Devil yanked it out
as the whale belted a high F i believe
and let it sink from the blood pouring
from his parched mouth.
the Devil came back up and fell
onto the sand where rocks and shell
drew more blood: the sea is bloody
and the sand is crimson like the band
above the horizon at sunset.
the Devil just kept eating,
hoping to get that whalesong in his soul
somehow so he could lure us to the sea
where we could drown in whale’s blood
and salt water: ocean foam looks like it’s been kissed
with fresh autumn cranberries
but the elixir is not nearly as tart.
the Devil stood back and opened his mouth
but nothing so soft swayed from his tongue:
he made a deal with himself that he
regretted, looking at the body of a dead whale
wash up on the beach.
now the Devil has nothing but half a whale’s tongue
and some scrapped knees.