By | 1 June 2013

the gulls her
voice is fixed to tense the drum
the neck, hair clear on end, the gull her
voice to what she’ll call the flock of them, each one
clawed as human talk: grip let the arc of her
is taut: the neck its hum
her skin of the

amp all of tremble
in the caw: gull form
please this turn of her
each bliss gull form
dumb wave disturb
not arm nor wing:
the flock at that new call

is bristling: what space for seabirds!
but each just backs up higher
at her, high enough to be edged out

not space but room: her voice formed that

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