singing: glad and big

since i am poetry 24/7, i will start the morning grabbing a random book and opening to a random poem just cuz. unless i am trying to figure out someones poetic steelo and then i will jus read the same poem every morning for like 10 days straight or sumthin like dat

todays selection matches very well with my mood which is has me wanting to go to olympus and steal fire, not for the benefit of humanity, but to show the gods that cruelty can be a two way street.

all these recent dark images has led some to believe that i am not in the best of sprits but AU CONTRAIRE, MON FRERE i am actually feelin damn skippy as of late. sure life is hectic and not everything is going as planned but somethings are developing out of thin air and blossoming into wonder and even better the horizon gets more focused every day. its still blurry but i am starting to see some shapes and figures in the distance and they are looking damn inviting, damn inviting indeed.

on the purely random tip: ANCHORMAN seems to be on cable almost all the time and the Franklin Ave Snack Box couldnt be happier. NO COMMERICALS– NO MERCY!!!

and now we switch channels back to the point of the damn thing which is this morning’s random poetry selection because when she calls you should always honor the muse…

[somewhere i have never travelled]
by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands


e.e. cummings

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