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
...
A poet lurked for poems
in the woods near Walden Pond.
She surveyed the ground once trod
by Walden himself, and secured her traps
...
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?
...