LISTEN TO THE OWLS

LISTEN to the owls  within the memories of how tangery thoughts call peach-like
colors ;  cellophane love within the sun of her eyes kissing yester-tomorrows.
A hand upon the oar washing tears deeply towering over your soul
and she’s gone!

i followed her foot prints down by a brook with an ancient bridge where
trolls never ask for pay.

i followed her petals of roses and those whose necks are long
and the incredibly high eyes of the trees ___ i asked an oak
: “Where is Jessica?”    the branches of a tree broke and i grabbed the
wood and it became my staff.

SHe is a purest pure whisper of a whisper  and everyone smiles  (while you
drift by the flowers)  newspaper taxis and childfully serious
petals of holiness.
Ooh.  
Woman in the sky and my dreams are as looking glass ties
— suddenly she is there at the helm of the steam train
driving the rails onward. 
Ohhh.  

LISTEN TO THE OWLS

LISTEN to the owls  within the memories of how tangery thoughts call peach-like
colors ;  cellophane love within the sun of her eyes kissing yester-tomorrows.
A hand upon the oar washing tears deeply towering over your soul
and she’s gone!

i followed her foot prints down by a brook with an ancient bridge where
trolls never ask for pay.

i followed her petals of roses and those whose necks are long
and the incredibly high eyes of the trees ___ i asked an oak
: “Where is Jessica?”    the branches of a tree broke and i grabbed the
wood and it became my staff.

SHe is a purest pure whisper of a whisper  and everyone smiles  (while you
drift by the flowers)  newspaper taxis and childfully serious
petals of holiness.
Ooh.
Woman in the sky and my dreams are as looking glass ties
— suddenly she is there at the helm of the steam train
driving the rails onward.
Ohhh.  

LISTEN to the owls  within the memories of how tangery thoughts call peach-like
colors ;  cellophane love within the sun of her eyes kissing yester-tomorrows.
A hand upon the oar washing tears deeply towering over your soul
and she’s gone!

i followed her foot prints down by a brook with an ancient bridge where
trolls never ask for pay.

i followed her petals of roses and those whose necks are long
and the incredibly high eyes of the trees ___ i asked an oak
: “Where is Jessica?”    the branches of a tree broke and i grabbed the
wood and it became my staff.

SHe is a purest pure whisper of a whisper  and everyone smiles  (while you
drift by the flowers)  newspaper taxis and childfully serious
petals of holiness.
Ooh.
Woman in the sky and my dreams are as looking glass ties
— suddenly she is there at the helm of the steam train
driving the rails onward.
Ohhh.