Real Wise Owls

A Poem

Photo by Geronimo Giqueaux

Real Wise Owls

I prefer whirring 
Drills to naked ears

Than the screeches of
Someone knowing.

But only, only when,
Joy is stolen in correction.

Seeking it with higher vantage
Points with pretension:
    Tension forced before illusion.

Slick talons ripping into song,
Like scalpels slicing 

Down pillows,
Losing hoards of feathers.

Floating Joy—
Full collections.

    Yet knowing 
                               only
                                               finds 
                                                                 correction.

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This poem is part of a chapbook currently in submissions, Falling Between Flying: a 32p. bird-adjacent collection about swinging between highs and lows.