�

In my kitchen lay tiny blue owls,

Chirping and oozing their blueberry howls

onto my grandmother's tiles.

They squeel at me;

jeer at me;

follow me around my quarters until

i burst. But first-

I take my butcher knife, my metal fox,

and chase their tails.

I am a dog. A bitch.

In my kitchen lay tiny blue owls,

turning their tiny blue heads

until they pop off like

screws.