| from "is 5": One: XXXIII... e.e. cummings... |
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voices to voices, lip to 1ip i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes . . . to exist being a peculiar form of sleep |
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what's beyond logic happens beneath will; nor can these moments be translated: i say that even after April by God there is no excuse for May |
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-bring forth your flowers and machinery: sculpture and prose flowers guess and miss machinery is the more accurate, yes it delivers the goods, Heaven knows |
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(yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake, of ourselves which shout and cling, being for a little while and which easily break in spite of the best overseeing) |
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i mean that the blond absence of any program except last and always and first to live makes unimportant what i and you believe; not for philosophy does this rose give a damn . . . |
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bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed splendor of piston and of pistil; very well provided an instant may be fixed so that it will not rub, like any other pastel. |
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(While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with? |
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each dream nascitur, is not made . . . ) why then to Hell with that: the other; this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid. |
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