‘The Seagull’ (Or, ‘A Sygull for the Blakeans’)

by waxnwings

Seagull! Seagull! burning bright
O’er chimneys of the night,
Whose sadistic mind devised
Thy caw of cystic syphilis?

What horrific hell so bleak
Did smelt the contours of thy beak?
What narcotic was he taking?
Who did long a bird of raping?

And what pervert’s hand did art
Bowels that wont to only shart?
And when only shart did seep,
What foul cock and what foul skeet?

What the mâché? What the tacks?
Did fashion flocks of flying rats?
What their purpose? What foul death
Doth fumigate from sultry breath?

When the angel fell from high,
And built his gates where sin reside,
Did he work with spunky cloth?
From which bore flying Behemoth?

Seagull! Seagull! burning bright
O’er chimneys of the night,
Whose sadistic mind devised
Thy call of cystic syphilis?

A seagull I once set on fire (reconstruction)

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