THE OWLS (after Baudelaire)

owls 2










Under the mardy yew-trees
owls in stately rows –
identity parades of strange gods,
red-eyed, pondering –

lazily compose themselves
as daylight runs down the drain
to a dark reconstructing itself
against declining sun.

The sussed soon learn this poise,
detached from the world
of temporal disorder:

while pissheads drunk on shades,
incapable of sitting still,
keep on getting it in the neck.


Steve Waling



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