Tonight the beach is calm,
tide pregnant with crabs.
Carib moon out; shadows
frolic outside like
...
Goblin, goblin, burning white
in what hell are you tonight?
...
Beneath my wings,
a writer sings.
No fear of flying,
the proof's in trying.
...
Timid as a moth
my willing wings embrace
the hollow of her love;
dark on the sheet her face.
...
I know the sparrow in the marrow
of your bones.
And in the spring, closely within
your pirouettes I follow
...
Der were ratz in the suflé again.
My moder gave me ratz to eet.
Cellar ratz, in the suflé, again.
Has my moder ever eeten ratz?
...
A poet lurked for poems
in the woods near Walden Pond.
She surveyed the ground once trod
by Walden himself, and secured her traps
...