E. E. Cummings

A blue woman with sticking out breasts hanging
clothes.  On the line. not so old
for the mother of twelve undershirts(we are told
by is it Bishop Taylor who needs hanging
that marriage is a sure cure for masturbation).

A dirty wind,twitches the,clothes which are clean
-this is twilight,
a little puppy hopping between
skipping
children
(It is the consummation
of day,the hour)she says to me you big fool
she says i says to her i says Sally
i says
the
moon,begins to,drool
softly,in the

a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night

when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness, noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream

down eager avenues of lifelessness

consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought

is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man, whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own-

on

a light Out)
& first of all foam

–like hair spatters creasing pillow
next everywhere hidinglyseek
no o god dear wait sh please o no O
3rd Findingest whispers understand
sobs bigly climb what (love being some-
thing possibly more intricate) i (breath
in breath) have nicknamed ecstasy and And

spills smile cheaply thick

–who therefore Thee (once and once only, Queen
among centuries universes between
Who out of deeplyness rose to undeath)

salute. and having worshipped for my doom
pass ignorantly into

A man who had fallen among thieves
lay by the roadside on his back
dressed in fifteenthrate ideas
wearing a round jeer for a hat
fate per a somewhat more than less
emancipated evening
had in return for consciousness
endowed him with a changeless grin
whereon a dozen staunch and Meal
citizens did graze at pause
then fired by hypercivic zeal
sought newer pastures or because
swaddled with a frozen brook
of pinkest vomit out of eyes
which noticed nobody he looked
as if

A pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
o yes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall; tall
some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)
for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. doll
-E. E. Cummings

A total stranger one black day
knocked living the hell out of me-
who found forgiveness hard because
my(as it happened)self he was
-but now that fiend and i are such
immortal friends the other’s each
-E. E. Cummings

A wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand.  I think i too have known
autumn too long
(and what have you to say,
wind wind wind—did you love somebody
and have you the petal of somewhere in your heart
pinched from dumb summer? O crazy daddy
of death dance cruelly for us and start
the last leaf whirling in the final brain
of air!)Let us as

after five
times the poem
of thy remembrance
surprises with refrain

of unreasoning summer
that by responding
ways cloaked with renewal
my body turns toward
thee

again for the stars have been
finished in the nobler trees and
the language of leaves repeats

eventual perfection
while east deserves of dawn.
i lie at length, breathing
with shut eyes

the sweet earth where thou liest
-E. E. Cummings

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be

all which isn’t singing is mere talking
and all talking’s talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
gush to it as diety or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother’s son-
all is merely talk which isn’t singing
and all talking’s to oneself alone
but the

am was. are leaves few this. is these a or
scratchily over which of earth dragged once
-ful leaf. & were who skies clutch an of poor
how colding hereless. air theres what immense
live without every dancing. singless on-
ly a child’s eyes float silently down
more than two those that and that noing our
gone snow gone
yours mine
. We’re
alive and shall be:cities may overflow(am
was)assassinating whole grassblades,five
ideas can swallow a man;three words im
-prison a woman

and this day it was Spring…us
drew lewdly the murmurous minute clumsy
smelloftheworld. We intricately
alive,cleaving the luminous stammer of bodies
(eagerly just not each other touch)seeking, some
street which easily tickles a brittle fuss
of fragile huge humanity…
Numb
thoughts,kicking in the rivers of our blood,miss
by how terrible inches speech-it
made you a little dizzy did the world’s smell
(but i was thinking why the girl-and-bird
of you move…moves…and also,i’ll admit-)
till,at the corner of Nothing and Something, we heard
a

And what were roses. Perfume? for i do
forget. or mere Music mounting unsurely
twilight

but here were something more maturely
childish, more beautiful almost than you.

Yet if not flower, tell me softly who
be these haunters of dreams always demurely
half smiling from cool faces, moving purely
with muted steps, yet somewhat proudly too-

are they not ladies, ladies of my dreams
justly touching roses their fingers whitely
live by?
or better,
queens, queens laughing lightly
crowned with far colors,

thinking very

Anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she

as is the sea marvelous
from god’s
hands which sent her forth
to sleep upon the world

and the earth withers
the moon crumbles
one by one
stars flutter into dust

but the sea
does not change
and she goes forth out of hands and
she returns into hands

and is with sleep…

love, the breaking
of your soul upon
my lips
-E. E. Cummings

As freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame
as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets

Babylon slim
-ness of
evenslicing
eyes are chisels

scarlet Goes
with her
whitehot
face,gashed

by hair’s blue cold

jolts of
lovecrazed abrupt

flesh split “Pretty
Baby”
to
numb rhythm before christ
-E. E. Cummings

When I have struggled through three hundred years
of Roman history, and hastened o’er
Some French play-(though I have my private fears
Of flunking sorely when I take the floor
In class),-when I have steeped my soul in gore
And Greek, and figured over half a ream
With Algebra, which I do (not) adore,
How shall I manage to compose a theme?

It’s well enough to talk of poor and peers,
And munch the golden apples’ shiny core,
And

Because i love you)last night
clothed in sealace
appeared to me
your mind drifting
with chuckling rubbish
of pearl weed coral and stones;
lifted,and(before my
eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly
your face smile breasts gargled
by death:drowned only
again carefully through deepness to rise
these your wrists
thighs feet hands
poising
to again utterly disappear;
rushing gently swiftly creeping
through my dreams last
night,all of your
body with its spirit floated
(clothed only in
the tide’s acute weaving murmur
-E. E. Cummings

Between the breasts
of bestial
Marj lie large
men who praise
Marj’s cleancornered strokable
body these men’s
fingers toss trunks
shuffle sacks spin kegs they
curl
loving
around
beers
the world has
these men’s hands but their
bodies big and boozing
belong to
Marj
the greenslim purse of whose
face opens
on a fatgold
grin
hooray
hoorah for the large
men who lie
between the breasts
of bestial Marj
for the strong men
who
sleep between the legs of Lil
-E. E. Cummings

Beyond the brittle towns asleep

beyond the brittle towns asleep
i look where stealing needles of foam
in the last light

thread the creeping shores

as out of dumb strong hands infinite

the erect deep upon me
in the last light
pours its eyeless miles

the chattering sunset ludicrously
dies, i hear only tidewings

in the last light
twitching at the world
-E. E. Cummings

Buffalo Bill’s
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
-E. E. Cummings

But the other
day i was passing a certain
gate, rain
fell(as it will

in spring)
ropes
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness

as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold i looked
up

and
thought to myself Death
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch

the pink hollyhock existence whose
pansy eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchangingly the always

old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken

softly at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding
-E. E. Cummings

buy me an ounce and i’ll sell you a pound.
Turn gert
(spin! helen)the
slimmer the finger the thicker the thumb
(it’s whirl, girls)
round and round

early to better is wiser for worse.
Give liz
(take! tommy)we
order a steak and they send us a pie
(it’s try, boys)
mine is yours

ask me the name of the moon in the man.
Up sam
(down! alice)a
hole in the ocean will never be missed
(it’s in, girls)
yours is mine

either was deafer than neither was

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it’s
spring
and
the
goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
-E. E. Cummings