life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis

It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems

You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.

I spill my bright incalculable soul

Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?