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.
