owl

it’s metal cold in the room stings the surface of the skin a little cheeks flushed 104 degrees cotton fever nothing new thoughts of owls race through the mind far away New Mexico hills in a trip that failed to yield once what was expected seconds hop scotch off the arms of the clock apparitions in white cheap cotton come to check numbers and pulses disgust visible on the face like dust on grandma’s table the owls again the color of wild grain bare footed running with the breeze and the bugs birds of all congregations there to sing solitary ears robbed it’s cold please don’t leave but please don’t touch the New Mexican hills spread out Triple A magazine cover left in the lobby by the father who lost his son the owl took him the Yaqui say fever breaks gauzy cloak frosted from the sin and ignorance lips shiver pale so pale and deformed thirsty for baptismal waters wild wild girl the apparitions come on time oh no it’s her again when will she die my taxes deserve to pay better societal debts please don’t touch the owl she’s my mother looking at me hoot hoot hoot synapse without soul blood without spirit apparition grab the leg and tug cruelly get up it groans tax liability get’s up roughly like a broken transmission New Mexican hills will not be reached like that good bye owl

mbrazfield (c) 2020 gouache on paper

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