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 handorgan in twilight playing like hell
E. E. Cummings
in, 100 Selected Poems
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