Joris Iven

4†† Imagination

 

 

The whales, with their sleek shining bodies, bulging

And glistening in the watery light,

Drunk on the salt and aroused by the females,

Voluptuously lashing with their tails,

They dance in all the seven seas

Over which they rule;

From the polar seas, where they shiver with desire,

To the tropical currents, where they drift along lazily and powerless in their ready sweat,

And sometimes they roll in unbridled lust and passion.

Whales go to sleep like duchesses,

Lazily, bloated and breathing heavily they lie on their backs

In the immeasurable bed of the sea

Which rocks them.

When whales mate they lie heavily and proudly

On their bride,

And heave corpulently on the female as they kiss her,

With steamy hot breath; primitive power and pleasure.

The phallus swells as big as a man from their bellies

And they roar from the empty ballrooms

Of their lungs;

The blood throbs and pulses through their veins,

As they thrust into the warm, dark underbelly

Of the female's body,

Which shakes under them

To the rhythm of ocean waves.

They pump out their seed like volcanoes do their lava,

Stealthily, slowly and at length.

Oh! In all the seven seas, the bull whales are bulging

And happy, the females brimful, joyful and adulterous,

And together they dance in wide arcs,

Restlessly, in changing rhythms

And with great show of power and pride.

When whales dance, they sometimes embrace, casually, a fisherman

With their splendid cracking jaws.

 

 

 

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