Sunday, July 12, 2009

Written June 28th. A work in progress. It's not really about a sea gull.

i was on the beach collecting language

when you appeared as a gull, out

on the crests, cresting. you were always 

a gull, as gulls have always been.

here i saw that i could collect you also. 

your wild-eyed symmetry, symmetry

of your own language, your calling

out sounding like awe or raw...

raw, algae ripped out and whorled

into tide, beaching itself. raw, skin

laid out whipped by hot grains 

of sand. raw carelessness that belongs

to the world, that the world doles

out needlessly. 

you will one day land

on a live wire. in your mouth you'll carry

shock, loss, your pulse less 

and less. it will be the symmetry 

that eliminates you. its syllables that 

gag you like too big fish.

seconds from your end, i will see you

and there will be nothing i can do. 

foam from your mouth, calls falling 

out, will become foam on the sea. foam 

i will collect and swallow, 

calling and recalling.