When all the old grandmother trees have goneWho will hold the land’s memoriesWhen all the old grandmother trees have goneWho will remind us about the learned mistakes of the pastWhen all the old grandmother trees have goneWho will sustain the verdant web that binds us all to the EarthWhen all the old grandmother trees have …
Sometimes,my comfort zonefeels like a well worn straight jacketthat easesinto the crooks and bends of my bodylike an old friend.It glaresacross the no mans land of my smilescowlingat those who unknowingly trespasswith their untamed exuberanceand hot tearsand shouts of anger,unaware of the echoing antechamberthat conceals the spacewhereItrytohide. There, sits chaineda wild haired womandesperate to dance …