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.