do you feel
the hands
clawing up and down
your pretty little soul
the cold fingers
scraping
against the weak
frail
broken heart
of indiscretion past

the lone cry
of the gulls
circling
the landlocked
department store
parking lot
lost their way
far
from tha seas
they were born
to fly over

been gripped
so tightly
in the fallow fields
of lonesome
heartache
it’s impossible to tell
mirage
from salty wave
just the frigid claws
of unshed tears
in the man shaped shell
of someone else’s
burden