I'm a fucking seagull.
A rat with wings.
Born to linger by the sea,
The wind blew me inland.
All the other seabirds
are dead and,
I'm all that's left.
This empty parking lot.
Everything's black and hot
One flat rock.
I'm landlocked.
Choking down discarded thoughts
Like a boardwalk fry.
I flap, I glide, but I never fly,
Shoulder's crushed by an alien sky.
Despite it all, I'm still alive.
You're a damn pigeon.
A rat with wings.
A grey religion
From your image springs.
I watch you pick a chip
Out of a pile
And like magic
Life isn't so vile.
At Least I'm not you,
Several million miles
From home.
Mine's just a thousand
And two.
Us city birds
Are far and few.
But at least my flight
Wasn't as ew.
You bastard crow!
You rat with wings!
You took my bit of hoogie
And left me with a pizza crust.
You don't even eat that much
Else you'd fucking bust
Open gut
And everyone would see
Just how pink and soft
You are under all that unwashed,
Dark plume.
I wonder if motherfucking hawks,
Wolves of the sky,
Live in the city.
That's the thought that
With fear, was fat
in my mind
when I looked up from
My days-old pile
of fruit rinds.
And saw a silhouette
of large shoulders.
A still moment.
A large disbound from a high ledge.
The gray of the concrete
Was like the dim of the old sea
And in those generous seconds
Before he got me
I pressed into that rock
For refuge under it's
Airless void.
Then a yellow talon
Grabbed my neck.
Destroyed.
