deepundergroundpoetry.com
Drunken Owl Hunting
The height of winter brought the blending of two worlds,
Solstice at the village.
We passed between us our finely rolled cigars, The mad eyed Indian and I.
They danced across our vision, and smelt of a slow moving sweetness.
Cry of the ubagi
and the Indian betrays his nature.
We need guns.
A spotlight, and more champagne,
The woods are alive with hooting evil spirits.
Solstice at the village.
We passed between us our finely rolled cigars, The mad eyed Indian and I.
They danced across our vision, and smelt of a slow moving sweetness.
Cry of the ubagi
and the Indian betrays his nature.
We need guns.
A spotlight, and more champagne,
The woods are alive with hooting evil spirits.
Published 19th Nov 2012
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