Part of a three month text message conversation between myself and my old dear friend/love who later typed every word from our missives on a typewriter and then bound all pages in leather. It was an extraordinary gift for my 29th day of birth. It was his birthday yesterday. Happy birthday DCL! Do owls dream?
Yes I think so. Although it would be purely anthropocentric to say so for sure. I imagine they dream about survival and death and life like we do. Lots of mice. And tree perches. I need a tree perch now.
Your flight is now a bird of a different feather. Where will you perch?
Themiddleofsomewheretheleftofanywheretherightofeverywhere. Or perhaps Toledo.
How is your mind's eye?
Like a kitten sinking into me, a tree branch hovering, a distant thunderstorm, a bird tweet. And you?
Like a mixed tape yet to be recorded, a dragonfly and iced coffee in the sahara.
I am moving back to the ghetto manana. Crack ho Yolanson. That's me.
Someone's getting older.