Lake bird

Messed with this one a lot had to figure/get it out

ALL ENTER

One seagull - born of the lake is murmured against my ear - is not meant to last beyond the desert of navy it leaves behind -

- only meant to fall at the hands of a well worn gun, to win the actress and save the play - and it is here the breath against me ceases, unfurls itself from my grasp and turns to look at me

- always a bird, cold weaponry and feathers rolled into a mantle piece that will rival no other and always the story, told in bedroom grumbles and hasty Russian pages -

- there is no answer! the voice cries and straightens itself out, dresses again and teases knots out of hair There is only the play and the reality, the chosen and the implied, the dreamscape and the -

- yes -

- there are other seagulls that adorn the sky afterward, that mourn and weep as house lights mirror those bursts in the sky: there are other endings that are not worth mentioning.

There is no seagull and no lake. There is no response.

ALL EXIT