The Need

The owl seems oddly
out of place hooting
at this time of the day.

The coffee is growing
cold with time, it needs
to be dumped down the

drain, the mug needs to
be refilled, just as the owl
needs to call it a night.

This pen needs to move,
ink flowing, like a blood
letting-

this poem needs to end
and that story needs to
be written, the birds sing

my train of thought is
derailed once again.