Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat.

If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.

I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.

Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone; peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heel of small war--until the end of time to police the earth, a ghost orbiting forever lost in our monotonous sublime

We are all old-timers, each of us holds a locked razor.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city's throat.

Most poetry is very formal, but when a modern poet is formal he gets more attention for it than old poets did.