It's as if I were carrying a horse on my shoulders
and I couldn't see his face. His iron legs
hang down to the earth on either side of me
like the arch of triumph in Washington Square.
I would like to beat someone with him
but I can't get him off my shoulders, he's like evening.
- from Ode by Frank O'Hara.

A little bit here, a little bit there.

Flowers of Portland
Renaming flowers with more appropriate names, one species at a time

Draft, redraft.