The Road Not Taken

road less taken


I stopped today beside the road

that I had never taken;

I gazed along those verdant slopes

at what I had forsaken.

My broken spots pulled hard toward

‘what ifs’ and ‘might have beens’ –

My heart was caught and hung upon

the fence where doubt begins.

I cannot walk along that path,

my choices barred its entry;

I’ll never know its final trail,

so Grace will be its sentry.

The Hall Clock



When she can’t hold them (the sheer

weight of burdened hypotheses) they

fall, a ticker-tape parade of broken


pregnant with remorse. And even then,

they cling like maggots, feeding

on death, slavering in the frenzy; she

accepts the onslaught as necessary

(even natural), as a part of her due

for past errors, flagellation

working mystical redemption

on her Prometheus soul. She

will allow herself one hour

by the hands of

the hall clock before she expels

the notion; dry-eyed

and encased in armour

she will complete

the month’s living,

counting the moments

in heaps until her

next breakdown.