Portrait of Gull, from One Noumenal Will

The wheeling seagulls squaw

their juveniles squeek

and somehow they communicate

if not actually speak

they invoke music and rhythm

they are not witless birds

their garden dwelling cousins

imitating anything they hear

solving mazes and boxes

and levers and switch

the bolder gulls even spy chips

which they snatch

from the fingers of tourists

they menace the skies

at night they are relentlessly loud

the cloud carries them

to rattle every rooftop in town

they tear the bin bags down

and scatter the contents about

better than the bin men can

they are cruel and cunning

and perfect as a species can be

my own personal harpies

sent to insomniatise me