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Title: Fallen Leaves
Review: Although he may be as genius as he is, Walt Whitman is just random. His structure and development are atrocious, leaving us in a cloud of confusion. His lists, names, and metaphors can only be described as random thought. And don't even get me started on his comma use. That's how my little sister writes for crying out loud! I mean, don't you remember? You'd get lucky if you found an "and" in there somewhere. Granted, he did revolutionize poetry and writing as we know it. However, certain selections for his ever famous Song of Myself show that he can sure describe those bodily actions that he seems to love so much. I can cut him some slack, probably because he's a romantic writer, but his random stringing of words, phrases, and lists do his poetry injustice. Poor Jonathon Edwards would be turning in his grave...
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