the owls in the oaks call the local kids who
their forest is a cello full of questions
a hell of echoing hellos that go unheard
no likes, no lols, only haloed Aeolus
& oh yea, those kids glow with newsfeed
their mothers CEOs of the holy owe
they develop little syndromes one can name
& stare into twin mirrors set across the room
oh, they think they lack a proper ache
ha! It’s all so old, the I & its hold,
the eco-doom of a whole species
shackled in little forests of forget
coals still nursing the cold from a windy old-
timer who still speaks owl, who still
remembers the news of the poor, sold trees,
like it were yesterday, like they were Iphigenia’s
howling to the isles in the sea.