The whale briefly strands itself
on land—   opening
its mouth, I hear the laughter of the sea,
of a holy man down
in the fish caverns.

There are nuns in primitive bathing costumes
doing calisthenics in the beach sand—
up in the green castle,
in the dungeon’s hallway
of shadows, the ghost of my father
is warning me against something…

I think
he’s in league with the sweating nuns.
They want me to exercise
beyond the amusing pulleys of superior oblique.
And to drink less wine.
Jumping-jack Sprat says
You can kiss my ass, his fat wife
and I have run off
to Reno with her sick cat.