There are black swans.

THERE ARE BLACK SWANS

This is the place people come to
Sit in their cars
And smoke weed.

We walk.

We make a stirring
And a ploughing and a beating
Of the water.


The plovers shriek into a sky
Already rent by skylarks.

In the winter, there are black swans.
Then, i drink the briny air
And dine on the feast of sound.