rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Winter Up

The sky has turned drizzly rather than properly rainy, but maybe the clouds will be more ambitious tomorrow. For now there is only a slick street with silver trails wherever light falls, as though giant snails had passed. Going outside is like opening the door of a refrigerator full of grass and decaying leaves, and where something is melting, drip, drip, drip. No foodz for a lolcat to eat in there.

Happy Solstice Monday.

Sunday Verse


by e.e. cummings

Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.

young death sits in a cafe
smiling, a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger

(i say "will he buy flowers" to you
and "Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard" i

say to you who are silent.—"Do you see
Life? he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds 
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying 
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
                         will He buy?
Les belle bottes—oh hear
, pas cheres")

and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else

there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
likes flowers.

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.