Owen Onion Poems

Tumble do the trees in the trill forest,
An unwrinkled mirage of mild waves
Come; to warble the drum of my frailest,
As harvests of waves design the silence.
...

Fire and brimstone I trip and I fall,
Encased in a dreamscape fervent and droll
To fathom loose ladies lost in their shawls.
They billow and flow inside of my head
...

Unleash me to its curves
I have watched it mature
Now guide me through its birth.

Through swollen eyes
...