a contradictory metaphor, I see through,
the misty morning glows after,
I write under the influences of Poe or
Vanilla Ice songs in the backgrounds of my poetry.

Seek the darker realms of , Thoreau or
Romeo and Juliet, at times
when we make love.

My numbing goes so far, farther than
Frost on the tallest Mountains, questioning,
which ******* road to take.

It too late for me to turn back, to Whitman
dost the Bard laugh uncontrollably,
turns over three times, wherever he lies.
me thinks.