Can i add just one dash of color
to your all black wardrobe
your black and white photography
your dark poetry
your cup of coffee
Can I be the colorful imperfection
in your perfect dark world

you steal so many nights from me
by leaving me alone
to weep and grip the sheets
and know you won’t be coming home.

- p. winter

Isbin has been in the old barn
Shalby shall be, after spinning yarn
Isbin and Shalby aren't often far apart
Isbin's been wastin'
And Shalby's been stocked
Isbin's been askin'
And Shalby shall talk
Isbin's been barkin'
and Shalby shall squawk
Bark and squawk
Peck and talk
and by and by
the barn's been bought
been bought and sold
to who knows who
and Isbin and Shalby
Don't know what to do

A man's dream was eaten by death
and there is no funeral for him.
He's trapped in an old broken memory.
And the death is singing loudly,
And the love of women he missed,
And all the way she goes.
The pain is ready.
The pain is silent.
And for every suicide that was never recorded.
And every poem he's written that never tell the sad story.
And for the unsorrowful dying of the smell roses
coming down to the sea.