Fine Lines abandoned quarry— let me count the ways we argue seeing the world in a grain of sand sea urchin expired passport— water, water, everywhere shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? street-corner florist frog legs on the menu . . . but I have promises to keep let us go then you and I— divorce pending chimney fire— I celebrate myself, and sing myself blood test— o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done whose woods these are I think I know . . . doves at dusk election night miles to go before I sleep MRI— do not go gentle into that good night the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness . . . fresh tattoo dopplering siren . . . gather ye rosebuds while ye may garden party— I wander lonely as a cloud much have I travelled in the realms of gold— fresh corn on the cob she walks in beauty like the night— snow on the peaks fresh calendar— I will arise and go now to Nunavut mulberries— drink to me only with thine eyes social injustice report— had we but world enough and time rattling seedpod— hail to thee blithe spirit |