(((hairy moth owl 2)))

[Verse 1]
I was chilling in Powell's, chatting with Gary Groth
When I spotted an owl dressed like a hairy moth
I said, “Excuse me Mr Groth, but I got to go eavesdrop"
"I can't believe he's shopping and not asleep in a treetop”
He had a “New York is Book Country” tote bag
And wherever he walked, he left a trail of dope quote tags
I said, “You going to a fortune cookie factory or something?"
He said, “Ha-ha, yes! My chariot's the Great Pumpkin!”
We jumped in
He nod-gestured to his driver, Esther Equinox
Who was dressed like she'd caught sequin-pox
The squash carriage progressed over creeks and rocks
We coasted up to a treehouse that hosted deep freak-outs
The guests were decked out in human costumes exhumed from lost tombs
I kept my eye on Esther as she rolled across the room
Monkeyboard played a funky chord "ber ber!"
And it occurred to me to check on our ride in case anyone was hungry for our gourd
Hunkydory, as the girl from the nord country drunkly poured from the berry broth cauldron
Hairy Moth Owl lounging with the owl kin all around him
They played hopscotch
Instead of a rock they threw a topnotch stopped pocket watch
Toss, catch
The claw snatched it from a moss patch
And darkness started to cross-hatch
Then he asked me, “Does your affect and cause match?
Do you treat your wife/life with as much care as you give a song?
Do you write for posterity even though your kids can't live as long?”
I said, “Why were you at the bookstore?
I thought you were nocturnal?”
He said, “We looked for this
My bound blackboard chalk journal.”

[Verse 2]
Prairie dog howled as her pup sucked a clogged dairy duct mouthful
Hairy Moth Owl, shorty parked, patient, peaceful
I stripped thorny bark off a branch for bare-tree bow dowel
Bent them like a story arc to construct an easel
A productive way to weasel out of answering the question
He put his bound pad of mini chalkboards on the tray
Walked toward it then away
Made a sad sound "hmmphmphmm"
Whinnied like seagulls that orbit the bay
I wanted to talk more, didn't know what to say
He said, “Cat got your tongue?
Wrung dry? Stung fly pop flat your lung?
Did the rung slat crack and for a hot sec, you hung from one hand?
Suntanned and clung?
You better raise up like you're your own parents
Grown talent alone prone to clone arrogance
I'm gonna go play now
And if you think of something to say, then go wake up and tell Greybrow”
He left me stumped like a clear-cut old growth
He jumped, disappeared, steered toward the cold north
Greybrow's grey brows looked like my step-grandfather's moustache
Like a cigarette that's just ash
Like someone who don't trust cash
I couldn't tell if he was wake or sleep
I didn't make a peep
The space in front of his face deep as a lake or a pond floor
I picked up some chalk and I drew a blind contour
My mind wandered like a flying condor
And the chalk from a tool chest with a jeweled crest that said "Cool Quest: My Divine Sponsor"
When I looked at the board, I was floored by what a blind line'd conjured
H was the legs
M was the wings
O was the head
Ear tuft, crown for kings
Upside down, so tight
Snow white on pitch black, mirrored the low light