Gulls/Rails (Dec ’10)

In corners,

sometimes in corners,

one hears the great grinding

of imagined worlds

where seagulls hold their hate.

Deep in cornered silence runs the clot,

the plot,

with incredible slowness

like the slow creak of rails;

the beating of the silence’s faint heart

where it speaks its own betrayal.

In a deafening

deafened room

somewhere amidst the clanking apartments

of the gull’s mind – leaking

now, overflowing its gates –

a hand reaches blindly in the darkness,

feels its way through the willing objects

and finds…

…finds its match

in the touch of steel,

pure speed

pure violence.

And there, in the happy dream


on two feet

shoulders braced

muscles tense

skin heating

he raises the knife, and dives,

arm strong,

arm fast –



as his hatred finds its place

at last,

at last.

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