Robert Frost
Loved and lost
Much
But never lost his touch.

the river's ice between my teeth
my small heart exposed
slow & white
my eyes black with rot


curious
i see your call


shoulders haunched & thin
watching yours turn


what am i
who am I


a new scar here
an abscence of some force you knew


my teeth drop
is it clitter clatter
or were it pitter patter

the bridge is lit
this river, dead or dark
as yet, frozen


rain, sleet, wind
my fangs fall away before my snarl
makes use


it is you
faces you

a small goal is granted
a warm wish in this naked winter
i held a heart once, nurtured & loved


granted breath and warmth


i howl and crawl away
into a new grave
the soil turned
stony, grey & salted


did you think of me?
did you remember me?


did you call for me
or were it just my memory?

they've all become so desensitized,
drinking their coffee and watching people die.
and some part of the world
preaches values of kindness and peace,
but the weapons they've sold
are used every day to take lives of kids.
and they don't see the irony
of protecting borders, from what exactly?
when even survivors are getting tired,
when there's no hell deeper down, yet we still continue descending,
when every next morning comes with a list of names, lost to the fire,
they all would rather pretend it's a fiction,
                         a story,
                                       a lie,
drinking their coffee and watching people die.

quickly the fire truck
jumps from its station
clamoring into traffic
disrupting its flow
like a boulder sat in water
the cars swerve and collect
on the side of the road
only to soon return to their stream
the casual chaos continues
and I wonder what it’s like
to be able to go about routine
when tragedy is occurring
just up the river

My lover has the hand of an artist,
The heart of a poet,
The brain of a genius,
And the ear of a musician,
The most rare mix of beauty and tragedy.

O lover, O muse, you strike me–abuse!
Your tender, graceful kisses–******!
Your words are greased with lies obtuse,
Oil enough to light a fuse.

I was born of pedigree,
Taught and raised with chivalry,
To, someday, be noble knight,
Of strong and loyal moral might.

Then, you came and caught my neck,
Breathing lust in tender pecks.
"Man of valor, lie with me.
Savor love with liberty…”

Strong with urge, driven by hate,
Lust-filled love–yes, satiate!
Your saintly face like holy art,
Too late! You are the Devil at heart.

Now I lie in grueling pain,
Body slain and spirit stained.
Repenting–pleading!–by blood and mercy,
That I might enter into life, though maimed.

Sweet the girl and tender her age,
She's too young for the fire's rage.
But, alas, the law still stands,
And punishment for her crime demands.

Little Oshichi, that greengrocer girl,
Her hands, restrain; and hair, unfurl.
She stands upright against the stake,
Weeping as she regrets her mistake.

She had fallen in love with a page,
While a fire had roared and raged.
As her house was burnt away,
Love, within her heart, gave way.

Entranced, enraptured, and captured with him,
Oshichi went forth on a fanciful whim.
Believing that it would bring them together,
She struck a flint and started a fire.

A clanging tocsin pierced the night,
"Me-gumi, hark! There's a fire to fight!"
A throng of ***** steeplejack boys
Rush to the scene with swaggering poise.

Oshichi now gazed in horror, aghast,
Watching as the fire spread fast–
Her dream of meeting her youthful lover
Set ablaze with burning desire.

Arrested, tried, and sentenced to suffer,
The judge, kind sir, tried his best to save her.
"Are you not 15?" he asked, worriedly.
"I'm 16, my lord," she answered meekly.

Bewildered and anxious, he asked yet again,
"Surely you're 15, young one, dear saint?"
She bowed her head and shed a tear.
"No... I'm 16," she answered with fear.

Cursing his fate, the judge had no choice.
He gave his sentence with a downcast voice:
"Yaoya Oshichi–what girl so tender–
Shall be burnt an arson offender."

Bound and burnt for want of love,
Oshichi lifts her gaze above.
Weeping as her smoke ascends,
She cries to heaven, its mercy lend.

At last, Oshichi succumbs to the fire,
Consumed by passion borne of desire.
Sweet the girl and bitter the flame,
As her lover cries out her name.