Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death
I will tremble and quake and hide behind couches.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
My face is in the carpet, scratched by the wiry pile, and I can't breathe . . .

He leadeth me beside still waters
My tears roll down my face and I can't stop them or stifle the sound.

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me*
But ******* it I fear just about everything else, and most of all, losing you.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
And what good is that when I don't know if I will live through today?

i always go to the bridge.
always the bridge.
                                                 i'm not sure why.
but every
               single
                      time
i find my feet inevitably leading me
out the door,
         across campus,
                   through the woods,
                                                          ­            and to the bridge.
i can only pray that
on the day it all falls to pieces
my feet won't lead me
                             off it . . .

Poor little puppy,
short scrawny thing with
tiny black eyes that are
sad even while smiling.
He was a present,
cherished and played with,
but now he is often
banished to the corner
while his young owner dreams
of riding golden horses
instead.

That rather awkward moment
When you try to find a rhyme
So you bend over backward
Trying to keep time
And it ends up sounding forced
Even slightly trite
Like you literally sat there
All frigging night
And sweated and banged
Your head on a wall
Trying to come up with
Anything at all
That would sound like a rhyme
Because you are a poet
And you've written before
Though no one would know it . . .
There is such a thing
As a poem with no rhyme
It's called free-verse, ******* -  
You should try it sometime.

Mounds of sheets and piles of pillows
(It's slightly hot in here!)
Sitting up, I brush my head against
The drooping blanket roof;
Silver light and sounds of rain and wind
Add to the cozy cheer
Of curling in a blanket fort, completely
Weatherproof.
Our classes have been cancelled, we're
Advised to stay inside:
We'll don our robes and steep our tea
Against the stormy cold,
And take advantage of this unexpected
Break to go and hide
In blanket forts and make believe
That we are five years old.

alone, and cold, and wanting
nothing more than to wrap my arms around you
and feel your little body against mine
open and trusting, soft and hot
with your loud rasping breathing in my ear
moving the hair on my neck
and your chubby arms squeezing my shoulders
as your tiny clammy hands play with the back of my shirt
and you listen impassively
and think about birds, or lunch, or that you need to go *****
while I tell you in the softest tones I can
that everything will be alright
and that I love you very much
and that I cried when I wrote this.