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
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