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.

one day I stood barefoot
at the edge of the ocean
and watched
as the angry orange red sun
bled itself
on the razor edges
of the dark waves
it’s only companion
and witness
the incessant sibilant hiss
of an ice edged wind
and while the light faded
it
silently
softly
gratefully
sank
into the darkness
and standing in that fading light
knowing the waves
will only get colder
i stepped forward

As the sun navigates the sky
Ages will pass and time will come by
When the stars were shining, I was growing up
Responsibilities had settled in
And before I knew it,
I forgot about the stars

do you not love me,
as the fly loves nectar dropped in a pitcher-plant,
do you not embrace me,
as the mistletoe embraces its host,
suffocating.
do you not ******* lips,
lips of sweet-tasting cyanide and intoxicating nutmeg,
as these walls separate us,
they unite us,
and the saccharine poison of your affection,
has seeped into my veins.
let me be your antidote,
your toxin,
let me be part of you,
and consume your spirit.
let me sit by you under the strychnine tree,
my head in your lap,
and drink another dose.