How To Avoid Being Eaten By An Owl

12 Oct 2013

Patrick Mackie

 

The owl was so far inside itself that all that you could see
was the fire of its disappearance on the white air,
the air dizzied into whiteness,
the stomach of the air wheeling and choking,
the owl dropping like a little block of vertigo up into the pupil of the air,
stamping its feet on the high cinders of the ground of the sky,
the air spat its own blackness back out all over itself,
the whites of its eyes were closing,
and the owl had ended up committing suicide,
or it had told some grim jokes then soared off stage to great but rather cold applause,
it had built the moon by flying straight into a large rough stone,
and it sat there now inside your head like the white curve of a limb broken from an
irresistible statue,
burning,
while the little white claws of the stars scratched away at the empty head of the
night;
she had dropped away from you too, but she was also still standing in front of you,
holding the pallor of her body in the dark palms of her
hands.

 

Image copyright: Tom Llewellyn

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