In the mind of the eyes
come a tropicanical slime.
awaiting to advise
Hertzian chimes.

Occupation airwaves
coming to close
frequency bands; leaving the graves
acronyms align
while ghost-eaters doze

This Owl, out, out,
Out on the tune.
No way, not worried about the
electric life on the Moon.
“Oedipus Owl!”
Hear the Children croon?