seagulls
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The seagulls pick at the sand surrounding my feet
aimlessly trying to pick any particle of soul from me
the smallest one tugs a hair
another one
one more tug
seagullsshriek toone anotherthey are open and honestand truelike human screams in conversationthe coarse sand plugging their throatssea salt wind and ice cream pavement
The Sky is blue,And full of poo,falling, spiralling, down,from white and brown-speckledcreatures They call seagulls.
And the moral of this story is-Shit happens.
The crash of the waves
Upon the shore
The smell of the salt
Oft described in folklore
The feel of the sand
Warm and soft underfoot
The cry of the seagulls
They saw my fresh fruit
Slippery SAl slipped slowly sideways in his slippers as see's seagulls sipping soda through straws.
