July 24, 2020 by Simon Sweetman

Poem: Typewriter Owl

I was a Typewriter Owl, up all night, candle not the only thing burning dim. My room a stench of whatever booze was cheapest, whatever smoke was best. I have pages of nonsense I keep them in folders I’ll never look through. I was a Typewriter Owl, but not anymore. (I couldn’t give a hoot).