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Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU München, where I tutor and edit circulars on poetics and composition, I'm anatomizing the prosody of Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.

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CXXXVII


by William Shakespeare


Thou blinde foole loue,what dooſt thou to mine eyes,
That they behold and ſee not what they ſee :
They know what beautie is,ſee where it lyes,
Yet what the beſt is ,take the worſt to be.
If eyes corrupt by ouer-partiall lookes,
Be anchord in the baye where all men ride,
Why of eyes falſehood haſt thou forged hookes,
Whereto the iudgement of my heart is tide ?
Why should my heart thinke that a ſeuerall plot,
Which my heart knowes the wide worlds common place?
Or mine eyes ſeeing this,ſay this is not
To put faire truth vpon ſo foule a face,
   In things right true my heart and eyes haue erred,
   And to this falſe plague are they now tranſferred.


Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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