Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sit among the rustling leaves.
Listen for life,
Listen for death.

You'll find that life lives among the trees
Audible by whistles.
The freedom a seagull must feel.
Favorite food: tourist's french fries.

I once heard a story about a buoy.
From Maine to Europe it
Drifted for years.
Is that freedom?

Did the current grab it's limbs like
The medieval rack and dislocate it's ability?
Buoys can't cry for help as cargo ships float by.
The salt tastes like ignorance.

How would a bird feel to be stripped of it's feathers?
Ask a magicians dove.
What is the correlation between disappearance and freedom?
Ask the buoy. You can't get 10 years back.

Watch an ice cap melt.
Watch your mother cry.
Watch your grandfather forget your name.

If a tree falls in the forest, alone,
does it make a sound?
If a girl cries in the dark,alone,
can she be seen?

To be an artist is to choose
loneliness over emptiness.
Why do you think poison ivy grows leaves?

To use the right side of your brain
is to choose
to make a sacrifice.

I should have known that you were like the ocean,
Always tossing and turning those who
Choose to get on top of you.
I should've taken warning when
Your eyes were red like the sky in the morning.

I used to love the blush colored lipstick
You would put on at night.
Maybe I saw myself in that lipstick.
The way you would press me against your lips.
I,
Your material girl,
Used to look good on you.

You left me one day
Sitting in your sweltering car
Where I slowly melted inside the cap
You concealed me in.

You wanted to look good again.
But, darling, you're too late.
I am nothing but a puddle of pink on your dashboard.
The same shade of pink that cascades the sky
Above you,
The Ocean.