The owl calls,
Begins the day
In his realm he sleeps sideways
Awaking the damaged poet,
Full of yesterday and wine in his veins
The owl howls,
One last warning to awake
He moves without control and falls
He claims much could be at stake
Pale blue sky,
Now the morning birds have arrived
Frightening the artist’s past
They’ve brought disease at last
In my footsteps I fear the road I once loved
They told me to stay away from those fucking birds.
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