The Blind Owl Club

The febrile imaginings of a blind owl
fill a breezy meadow
with hallucinatory mice.

The monkey couldn't catch the moon in a net
but when he gave up and dipped himself a drink
there it was in the bucket.

If you hear saints, like Jeanne d'Arc
come join me at the Blind Owl Club
for a glass of moonjuice and an
imaginary mouse kebab—

we'll argue about prophecy and truth,
ponder the significance of pigeon entrails
and at 3 AM when we pack it in and stagger
drunken into the street, arm in arm with our shadows

the taxi will arrive like a flash of revelation
and the driver grins: "Where to?"

--from Poefusion's title: Febrile Imaginings of a Blind Owl

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