https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxI3t67cspw
Listen and recite on tempo with the space between preferably
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Let us sneak past the beholders
And fall through the hedge

Twist and tuck your shoulders
Careful not to slip the ledge

Where that speaking plant rose
'Till all noise is scant

Pass the root that slows
'Nd Keep the leaf that quickens

Follow the vine that goes
Passed the sign of picking

When the lone holt rises
And the deep mire thickens

There are three stones stricken
Standing of similar sizes

There it is the time of all ages
'Nd it doesn't matter what your age is

Where the wind flower is always a toss
And where the rocks are growing on moss

I have had it with signs and maps
At this next crossroad I will try to get lost

Nothing feels familiar and I've lost all name
Here life feels only a process, maybe a game..

I'm feeling wayward
I hope you are feeling the same

Forget all clocks
We will look in each others eyes to tell time

Forget all forms
The great Dao is a mirror and you are a mime

Whistle 'gypsy' to meet a sekret of my kind
Passage to a garden of thistle and thyme

five fold colors from the canopy above
rest warm and low on the mushroom land of love

With draping crowns of brugmansia
and fragile ground of foxglove

tip toe the maze and careful where she lept
for where she landed is where many had wept

the life giving rivers we swim
are the same some were sweptt

or have you ever thought
that where you are now is where once a soul's body was left?

where one is complete
another in this life is bereft

so respekt what beyond that hedge lies
everything may be separate now, but everything is one when it dies

And if I were to shapeshift into a fish
my swirling ocean, i would call my sky

And if that fish had one wish
Would be that the world would never run dry

See your spells of intention and what you imply
dictates what your world is run by

And that is beautiful
no one can deny

But quick! cover with the shade of mind
because beholders of beauty are everywhere
yet some give the evil eye

so I shade with the hedge of night
And gaze with my third of sight

so my body can be hidden
and my soul in soaring flight

Because something in the air in the city doenst feel right
But I see it in every one of your eyes, your own starry night

if you are still weary on the path to unite
this spells scroll recite

in one lord and lady
in darkness and in light
i cast this as tinder for your soul to ignite

There as I sat it spoke to me,
   this wall of asymmetric cracks.
Its faded, soaked cement remained.
   Its light red bricks answered back.
Past these chips of aged white
   the blue sky hung with wispy cloud.
A distant bird with creeping weeds
   through ancient windows spoke aloud.
Here light enfolds these steps of prayer
   where new fresh grass is listening.
The hedges kept with varied plants
   in waving breezes are glistening.
This ruined wall tells its story
   of faded asymmetric glory.

A bloom on the hedge,
Wants me to stop, but I left;
‘Love, it’s getting dark’

Vor dem Gesetz steht ein Türhüter.
                                      --Kafka*


This is a day
like the many days I've spent

empty handed
among the shadows at dusk

that cast no reflections
in the reflecting pools

and hold no illusions
as to what really is illusive.

But on this day my illusions
are changing

imagining that for once my world is based
upon three things;

The rule of law

The five books of your hand

And you, the prophetess that wrote them.

And as required
I will build a hedge for you.

And if this hedge
should ever over grow,
I will then trim it
like a true guardian of the law

Allowing none other entry
and I alone will hold fast

to the five books of your hand
and the only other existing copy.

Against the perimeter of my childhood backyard
cluttered rows of privet hedges produced
tiny ruby berries, easily crushed if stepped on.
They always fell from the branches
in the slightest trail of wind.

Cougars prowled my playground.
My parents, hesitant to let me out alone,
planted the bushes
in the hopes the cougars would
eat the Ligustrum ovalifolium and never return.

I knew the berries were toxic
and could make me ***** more than what I consumed,
a time bomb in my stomach.
Mother said the poison could make
me shiver harder than a winter day.

When, once, I raised a berry to my lips
Mother plunged forward
and slapped it out of my fingers,
a strange mixture of anger and concern in her eyes.
I was never to pick one again.

I didn’t understand the problem
until I saw two cougars laying behind a privet—
a mama and her cub
no longer breathing in sync.