Screech Owl

The screech owl sits, adorable, up in
The open oak, alone and looking out
Upon its prairie that it had to win —
It rules its roost; it sits there with no doubt.

Around the oak are little balls of fur
With girter bones and stomach acid spackle —
The undigested all that’s left of her,
The mother mouse. The owl emits its cackle

--

--

--

I am the author of “Diaphysics” and the novel “Hear the Screams of the Butterfly.” I am a consultant, poet, playwright, novelist, and interdisciplinary scholar.

Love podcasts or audiobooks? Learn on the go with our new app.

Recommended from Medium

Windy Season

My Favorite Charles Bukowski Quotes & Poems

Mineral Monsters

One Wish

I’m not pretty

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
Troy Camplin

Troy Camplin

I am the author of “Diaphysics” and the novel “Hear the Screams of the Butterfly.” I am a consultant, poet, playwright, novelist, and interdisciplinary scholar.

More from Medium

Necessary Measures

A jugglers dream

I write because…

Love Me in Daylight