reading e.e. cummings

sometimes i find life extremely frustrating and other times i don't let it bother me. but dreams can really get me down. mostly because they seem so distant, some tiny dead planet with a spark. and you have only to wonder if you're really aligned.

so on that thought, i read and liked this poem while sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the chicken to marinade.



XIX

i will cultivate within
me scrupulously the Inimitable which
is loneliness,these unique dreams
never shall soil their raiment

with phenomena:such
being a conduct worthy of

more ponderous
wishes or
hopes less
tall than mine"(opening the windows)

"and there is a philosopy" strictly at
which instant(leaped
into the

street)this deep immediate mask and
expressing "as for myself,because i
am slender and fragile
i borrow contact from that you and from

this you sensations,imitating a few fatally

exquisite"(pulling Its shawl carefully around
it)"things i mean the
Rain is no respecter of persons
the snow doesn't give a soft white
damn Whom it touches


-e.e. cummings