He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

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.

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.

This is the cardiac line.
Your first stop is the
left atrium.
Passengers alight here for warmth and passion.
Please have your tickets ready worn on your sleeve.
We apologise for any delays. This was due to mixed signals.
You are in coach one of four.
Mind the gap between the heart and common sense.

*******, and it's definitely past afternoon.
I need a better motivation than coffee
and people possibly leaving me alone.
I slept in my clothes
and smell like fire.
Ignition- I need to
ignite something.
I'm scared
of drugs though. Talk about
drugs; even a prescription.
We were making sense once.
My face has melted like butter
into the flannel sheets
and pillow
cases. Be awake for what?
Dreaming lucidly but
unaware- just like real life?
I don't think I've woken up.
I just have coffee in me now.
I've been on both feet.

The Telievision
Tells you things,
Lets you know,
Just what to think.

You can never stare too long,
The news tells you
what's right from wrong.

Go on out and,
buy these things,
diet pills will,
Make you shrink

You've got life,
made up all wrong,
Just compare it
to the songs.  

Your life isn't MTV,
So you must try,
And be just like me.

Trickling tingles bubble, goaded from the verdant body
As a butterfly’s flutterings coax the flow
Widening and filling
With a gentle lapping of inlets
Ripples tease the reeds into turgid tremors
Merging to waves
Wave upon wave
Curves slide over curves
And at the Delta’s swollen, gaping breadth
Crests slip over craving crevices
Slapping froth in desperate gasps
Milking cruel spasms from the urgent need to reach escape
Until with turmoil resolved
A gentle calm inundates the great ocean of sleep.