I scream whale-song:
my anger - vast, 
persecuted, and could 
fuel a million lanterns.

My hurt: 
cold, blue, 
expanding.

The pod of dolphins
swimming around my head -
cynical, like cheap wine
for a daughter's third wedding -

they have all 
the answers,
but refuse to part
with anything but
jeering squeaks.

I am Moby 
looking for 
an Ahab -
and a leg
to chew.

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