Behaving
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
If I could be my Prospero, some hours
Perhaps, perceive the cosmos through his eyes
While hiding underneath a shrub from showers
Of English rain; or taste the twitching thighs
Of mice inside their painless fur, or hear
Their ultrasonic squeaks in throes of death;
If I could know his bottlebrush of fear
