Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

When my brother forces me to eat his vegan snacks
i look beyond this mortal plane and through its
hidden cracks; i close my eyes and am a king
in some far off land, sycophants sing a symphony
for me, for me, for ME! "-and it's gluten-free,"
says my brother, and i am snapped out of my reverie.

i made a hole inside my head, a ceaseless pit for enemies
a place for me to put them mentally, because i can't
afford to dig a whole hole in my backyard, 500 meters deep;
i am a ******* poet, man, and ****, big pits ain't cheap.

You need, indeed, a man, or steed,
a stallion of the purest breed, of course -
You need a muscled, manly horse -
A thoroughbred will do so nicely.
So here’s what I suggest you do:
Give up. Horses are quite pricey,
and clearly men don’t like you.

-Wisdom William

empathy's a skill to ****
as quickly as
you can
watch folks' heads fall
off their necks in
the fissures of
the net.

if you want no tears, no fear,
you first must become numb
some folk will cry, 'insensitive!'
but some folk are ******* dumb.

(in order for your life to start
cut the cord from your heart
to the net and fall apart.)

last night, i met a *****.
a pretty one, in heels.
it is clear, furthermore,
that she has no regard
for the hearts she plunders,
or the lonesome souls she steals.
she fell asunder like a split tree
struck lucky by thunder
and unlucky by me.

that girl is so lovely,
though she doesn't show it;
that girl, she made love to me,
though she doesn't know it.

what the hell is this 'oof' ****?
i want to bond with my son,
but i still don't know what a 'boof' is.

my son is vindictive; is 'fort-night' addictive?
****'s sake, i feel like a ******!

you're yappy
as a drooling
sack of dogs
and as happy
as a vietnam
bombing.
you're ******
as downtown
new orleans
pretentious
as banksy
unlikeable
as amy schumer
worn and round
as a linkin
park CD
and yet
you're lovely as
a dumb *****
could be.