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Sep 2016
A seagull screeches overhead.
The wind plucks its white feathers,
one by one, scattering them
to the sea like a soft shipwreck,
until all that remains of the seagull
are its eyes:
black marbles thumbed
across a starless sky.
Jonathan Witte
Written by
Jonathan Witte  East of Georgia Avenue
(East of Georgia Avenue)   
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