If Seaguls could Pray they’d Pray for an end with the junk drawer contents of their stomachs served to hungry mouths on a Silver platter.

Plugged
brought to the edge
the only release
half gallon vodka
and motel matches
regurgitated
soldering iron stomach acid
stomach lining in the sand
third degree burns
fuse the throat
simmer down
nobody can hear you speak
no one to sit, so you can stand
sealed envelope
always yearning
through constant hunger pains
but to reach for the forbidden fruit
to satisfy the needs
is to swallow the burning cross
that is the essence of creation
Someone poisoned the water hole
And the only thing that kills worse than DDT
Dissolving into nonconsentual skin
Is dehydration