Angels are brewing sleep
pillows weep stellar jam
here in a tangle of lawn
misnamed tanagers fold leaves
calendars slip filled with thorn
my mind puddle mends
a clique or brood of dream
at that midwinter height
heaving honey sleep, shake
the cusp of dark notes
as politicians sit in the shadows
tuning lies.
Larry Sawyer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dim-schizophrenia-of-owls/
