Ariel.

"...White
Godiva, I unpeel --
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning."  - Plath.

pine trees.

the end of tonight;
dawn will break like glass.the shatter of sun.
yet tonight tonight is now.
it could be forever.it could pass.
it is what i want it to be;
like intrepretation.
we are young
for long enough.with enough
bourbon and suicide sticks to last the
nights.(an ineffectual answer
to the question of Being.)
we want to grow as trees do.