Eight Foot Ocean

Written January 30, 2013 A lame duck calls and asks me for the key To The Barn on Sycamore A dog drenched down for everyone to see Walk a line cut thin by your disease Frayed then dyed and petrified A moral conscience longing to believe The flood gates poured before you learned to breathe Fighting up and falling down Swim around in circles till you're freed When smooth libations yield vibrating needs Sunlight wakes us from our sleep To get all our affairs in order, so we can repeat