I Disrupted An Owl
Oni Buchanan
I disrupted an owl.
It broke its wings on my account.
It flew straight into a glass pane.
I alarmed it and in a panic,
it smashed into the glass.
It lost its sense of direction, momentarily.
It panicked in its attempt to get away
from me, who had disturbed it in its home.
I entered the deserted factory
where it had made its home
up in the rotting ceiling beams.
I entered with the noise of disruption.
I disrupted it from its solitary peace.
I disoriented it by coming in daylight
to its fortress which itself was secret,
private, uninhabited, destined for slow
disintegration, that near inaudible
dripping and peeling sound, the sound of bits
flaking off. The owl was asleep
and suddenly a human presence, mine,
stumbled into its pristine
castle. It rose, alarmed—it slammed
into the glass and, both wings broken,
plummeted three stories, landing in
a pile of refuse that had previously
fallen over the course of decades
in that slow decay, the
dissolution of structure.
Carefully, I climbed down to the first level
where the owl lay in a disheveled
feathered heap of unnatural angles.
It was a treacherous climb, and I
commend myself on my bravery.
At any moment, anything could have
collapsed underfoot or fallen
from above. The owl clicked loudly at me
to deter my approach, helpless to move
or fly away. Kneeling down, I sang
to console it. I looked straight into its wild face.
I won't help you,
Lonesome Owl, Lonesome Lonesome Owl.
Even the proud too shall fall.
The throne too shall be knocked down
And the mighty be toppled.
All living things wait for death,
Lonesome Owl, Lonesome Lonesome Owl.
You have an appointment
you have to keep and I
have an appointment too.
Vote with me on this issue, Lonesome Owl.
Lonesome Owl, vote with me on this issue.
It broke its wings on my account.
It flew straight into a glass pane.
I alarmed it and in a panic,
it smashed into the glass.
It lost its sense of direction, momentarily.
It panicked in its attempt to get away
from me, who had disturbed it in its home.
I entered the deserted factory
where it had made its home
up in the rotting ceiling beams.
I entered with the noise of disruption.
I disrupted it from its solitary peace.
I disoriented it by coming in daylight
to its fortress which itself was secret,
private, uninhabited, destined for slow
disintegration, that near inaudible
dripping and peeling sound, the sound of bits
flaking off. The owl was asleep
and suddenly a human presence, mine,
stumbled into its pristine
castle. It rose, alarmed—it slammed
into the glass and, both wings broken,
plummeted three stories, landing in
a pile of refuse that had previously
fallen over the course of decades
in that slow decay, the
dissolution of structure.
Carefully, I climbed down to the first level
where the owl lay in a disheveled
feathered heap of unnatural angles.
It was a treacherous climb, and I
commend myself on my bravery.
At any moment, anything could have
collapsed underfoot or fallen
from above. The owl clicked loudly at me
to deter my approach, helpless to move
or fly away. Kneeling down, I sang
to console it. I looked straight into its wild face.
I won't help you,
Lonesome Owl, Lonesome Lonesome Owl.
Even the proud too shall fall.
The throne too shall be knocked down
And the mighty be toppled.
All living things wait for death,
Lonesome Owl, Lonesome Lonesome Owl.
You have an appointment
you have to keep and I
have an appointment too.
Vote with me on this issue, Lonesome Owl.
Lonesome Owl, vote with me on this issue.