Who will drink the water when it spills over abundantly
is it the shackled or the master that owns the overflow
in a forest most forgotten and apart from all redundancies
the garden with no planner may to some seem overgrown
but then who should own the earth in all of it's entirety
to beat back all discomfort and measure out the lines
the masters and the peasants change their places violently
still subject to nature that they'd sworn to leave behind
those who write the rules yet are not subject to such majesty
go caging lowly creatures who are born right in the way
if you would use your wisdom to achieve some newer travesty
I hope your path is love or that you leave it where it lay

I see an ancient moon
Passing through the soft
Branches entering my window.
Reaching into the illumination feeling
The fire - impalpable in my arms,
Shadowed by wrinkles with a remembrance
Touched by everything that always brought me home.
It is as if everything that exists, all light, all aromas,
All that I touch - they are all the sea upon which I float.
Funny how little by little I learned to love yet
Little by little I also seem to forget.
Somehow we forgot how to look for each other.
You left me at the shore holding my own heart,
Where my roots were exposed and ripped out
Floating away to seek new lands carrying
With me this silent, broken existence.
Destiny will undoubtedly land me wherever it will but
As the moon shines on me tonight I float off
To the heavens while nothing is extinguished.
For love feeds on love and as long as I live I
Shall forever be in your arms as surely as
This moonlight shines ever so softly in mine.

What is maintenance? My life has to be cold,
planned, full of calculation. Otherwise, what?
Otherwise, I'll be old at thirty-five, bold, but too close

to a tragic slip, toes in the grass by open graves,
when peers gather, grow on pavement past the gates.
My life has to be cold, planned, full of calculation.

Otherwise, the most vital, underlying systems
yell in warning lights, compromised. You may
not think it problematic, but I can't interpret
signs of my demise already six feet down,

now can I? That's why I (we): clean, sort,
scrub, update outdated thoughts, as if
otherwise, I (we) cut the years I'll (we'll)
survive.

Open my chest for me, you,
lovely human you. Your
scent rises through the rain.
Could I live the way you live,
I would. But I can't, and I know that.
So let me react to your input,

open my chest for me
open my chest for me

open my chest for me
open me