White birds always bring bad news
They caress imaginations that moan
for meaning, for a truth
These wicked imaginations whistling
at the worlds being built, whistling
at snake highways and lonely interstates
Suddenly feet don’t mean much
Imaginations make glass slippers
Can’t you see yourself in a new
pair in a new you when
imaginations roam they usually do so
in packs, often fighting to be seen
to be the first and the very best
There is a leader a big blue dream
That rides in on sparkling wheels
And eats away at grass and ground
And eats away at grass and ground
and licks its paws
and rests