the voices of seagulls deceive mariners
they don’t signal how close soil is
but only warn the unlucky travellers
of its violence and despair
they pity those humans
constantly searching for a refuge

some seagulls have only one leg
ice robbed them of the other
they thought it best not to complain
assuming it wouldn’t hurt them to stay
away from the ground and away from trees
away from the rubbish tins and ruthless teens

some birds sing their songs
inspiring pavarottis and bocellis and carusos of the world
well seagulls like screaming
it seems they vomit their guts
out of their chests and feed their babies
hidden in nests covered in guano

what can they see that we can’t
perhaps the abhorrent torment of daylight
when sun blinds but seagulls won’t look away
from that disarray manifesting warrants
to feel the mundane and drown their tomorrows
in the thick clay of their aeries

chugging blood from a vessel
that served as a ship a long time ago
seagulls get on each other’s nerves
while caressing a heap of aged bones
seagulls wrestle and drink their sweat
auguring threats and regrets and sorrows

tides slice their voices like a drunk butcher
a mariner hears a cacophony of violin solos
no mister seagull we cannot do what you’re asking
keep busking at sea and forget about symphonies
and when it swallows you or you get splashed by a bus
your scream rises in swollen echoes