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 colour 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
lovelovelove this poem
fun fact; he went to my high school
my high school can boast Robin Williams, John Walker Lindh, and porn star Allura Eden. e.e. cummings wins.
SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): What life will you be living at noon on
September 1, 2014? Who will you be? How thoroughly will your dreams
have come true? What kind of beauty and truth and love and justice will
you be serving? Will you look back at the time between August 27 and
September 21, 2009 and sigh, “If only I had initiated my Five Year Master
Plan at that ripe astrological moment”? Or on September 1, 2014 will you
instead be able to crow, “I can truly say that in these past five years I
have become the president of my own life”?
NO BIG DEAL.
But my dream self read them so much slower, almost a parody of grandeur, and I snickered to myself that all these people listening were taking it seriously, when I just knew I was tricking all of them.
Then I dreamt a woman told me that of course fairies are real, and to summon them all I have to do is stand on a chair, dip a spoon in honey and let it drip on the floor in a circle.