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.

In the midst of the horizontal black and white
Color is lost vertically within the silence
The ever bleeding captured vibrancies
Taken by those crude color blind tyrants
Fair-weather rainbows shining through the muck
Sailing beyond light stealing clouds
Where happiness colors often get stuck
But the sun still knows the moon
Our bright white in the cold black
For two things so far apart
They sure do interact
In the strangest way…

all I remember are a few
too many shots of whisky;
mints and cigarettes;
your lips -- and mine,
and my burgundy lipstick.
I remember your hands
under my skirt;
my perfume;
my hands running through
your hair.
mostly I remember
the next morning --
the headache
the scrambled eggs
and my sheets in the dryer,
tumbling
like my head.

Awakened mind
Body trapped
In reduced consciousness
Laying in a comatose state
Stitched to the mattress
Frozen
Cannot speak
Cannot scream

Repressed hysteria
Suffocating
Under the weight
Of the invisible intruder
The presence
Anchoring me down
Obstructing my breathing

Dark shadows
Dancing
By the chest of ****** drawers
An apparition of a bearded ******
Standing at the edge of the bed
Appears
Dark particles of fabric fill my eyes
I fight the fight
This shall not be my demise
Wake me up
I will die another day.

S* is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.

L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.

A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.

M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is *****: Honorum Mikael Iordan!

you tread the city so quietly.
tip toe delicate around me.
don’t send a word, don’t wave a flag.
and I wait to see you on trains
and I avoid brooklyn like the plague.
(if you wrote me I would drown.)
the boy who loves me would wilt,
knowing I hear your voice still.
although soft, although dreamt,
like notes that rise real slow
to the surface
from an underwater piano.

I'm still waiting for the song the end.