Excerpts
Decipher an ee cummings poem
Keith Nathan Brown shared this poem with me. He had some opinions on its meaning as did I. After the jump, I’ll share his and my ideas.
I googled “meassandca” thinking I would learn a new word. Not so. Keith reads it as either/both “as sand caving into” or “ass and caving into” and questions whether he wanted to write about anal sex but was concerned about the social taboo and made it possible to be interpreted both ways.
What struck me visually is the capital “V” just above the “oA” , possibly signalling the vagina over the asshole, as if he were looking at it. Also, the non-word ingint hinting to “in it” and the “o” next to the “A” hinting at one, the shape of a hole, and also, perhaps “or”, as if he was contemplating which one to go for. But why would his sluice be “pulled” and “emerging”? To me, this smacks of pulling out, but one of the great things about anal sex is pregnancy is not an issue. Keith thinks its just refering to him coming quickly. Ideas, anyone?
Tags: ee cummings
i’d say definitely “as sand” but retaining the obvious ass and vagina visuals… the cement cements the sand for me…. forgot how great ee is. thx.
i’d say definitely “as sand” but retaining the obvious ass and vagina visuals… the cement cements the sand for me…. forgot how great ee is. thx.
i agree that it’s “as sand caving into” and think the sporadic nature is meant to portray the frantic mental state of arousal and sex in general. as steve almond says, “We are all, when the time comes to get naked, terribly excited and frightened and hopeful and doubtful, usually at the same time” and i think the poem mimics that.
i love me some e.e.
i agree that it’s “as sand caving into” and think the sporadic nature is meant to portray the frantic mental state of arousal and sex in general. as steve almond says, “We are all, when the time comes to get naked, terribly excited and frightened and hopeful and doubtful, usually at the same time” and i think the poem mimics that.
i love me some e.e.
who cares?
who cares?
looking at a poem for the “meaning” is why many people don’t like poetry.
looking at a poem for the “meaning” is why many people don’t like poetry.
nice ryan.
Well, obviously I do, which is why I posted this post.
anyone lived in a perfect how town
anyone lived in a perfect how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hoe and then)they
said their nevers and they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt for forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
yes sir.
yes sir.
it was my lucid moment of the day.
it was my lucid moment of the day.
sometimes I wish we approached text like an image. in a painting you look at the colors and you see the colors running together and you appreciate how the painter put together pieces of information you can identify together in a certain manner. I feel like ideally we should read a text and interpret words like colors. that way we can “feel” the meaning of a cummings poem rather than try to take it apart. ideally we will understand the poem insomuchas we will read the original artistic expression rather than attempt to translate cummings-language into something that better appeases our limited, cage-like sense of what words are and how a vocabulary produces meaning .
sometimes I wish we approached text like an image. in a painting you look at the colors and you see the colors running together and you appreciate how the painter put together pieces of information you can identify together in a certain manner. I feel like ideally we should read a text and interpret words like colors. that way we can “feel” the meaning of a cummings poem rather than try to take it apart. ideally we will understand the poem insomuchas we will read the original artistic expression rather than attempt to translate cummings-language into something that better appeases our limited, cage-like sense of what words are and how a vocabulary produces meaning .
a ‘joke’ can still be ‘funny’ even if ‘explained.’
a ‘joke’ can still be ‘funny’ even if ‘explained.’
yeah, but then when talking about text, we’d be limited to a discussion of our ‘feelings.’
and then when reading a cummings i’d feel like i was reading a comments thread or something.
just because it looks like something like that.
yeah, but then when talking about text, we’d be limited to a discussion of our ‘feelings.’
and then when reading a cummings i’d feel like i was reading a comments thread or something.
just because it looks like something like that.
sure why not
sure why not
fair enough. though I don’t really mean to say that my sense of childlike wonder in terms of the cadence and form of a text is terribly compatible with a cohesive or formal literary theory .
fair enough. though I don’t really mean to say that my sense of childlike wonder in terms of the cadence and form of a text is terribly compatible with a cohesive or formal literary theory .
I believe that there shouldn’t be any one way to read anything, the same way there shouldn’t be any one way to approach writing. Texts, or stories, or poems, or whatever you want to call them–a good reader, or at least an engaged and attentive reader, should be able to approach the written word in whatever way seems most fitting.
I like narrative for what it is. I like abstraction, or what bobby referred to as “words like colors,” for what it is. But at the same time, it’s just like nabakov said: a good writer is a good reader. If you’re not critically analyzing what you’re reading, minding the author’s choices, asking questions, then you’re doing yourself a disservice.
Personally, I always look for meaning in what I read–whether that meaning be intentional on the author’s part, or my own, really doesn’t matter. And when it comes to writing, I expect my readers to meet me halfway.
I believe that there shouldn’t be any one way to read anything, the same way there shouldn’t be any one way to approach writing. Texts, or stories, or poems, or whatever you want to call them–a good reader, or at least an engaged and attentive reader, should be able to approach the written word in whatever way seems most fitting.
I like narrative for what it is. I like abstraction, or what bobby referred to as “words like colors,” for what it is. But at the same time, it’s just like nabakov said: a good writer is a good reader. If you’re not critically analyzing what you’re reading, minding the author’s choices, asking questions, then you’re doing yourself a disservice.
Personally, I always look for meaning in what I read–whether that meaning be intentional on the author’s part, or my own, really doesn’t matter. And when it comes to writing, I expect my readers to meet me halfway.
Well…
how he writes her flesh came at me like sand caving into a chute, the chute is likely the open-mouth of his body, of his desires — the idea of the cement mixing bin of a truck. Without her, without her flesh, his “cement” (his dick) is flaccid. He “had cement for her” meaning he had wood. And “we became each other” is the mixing (but not yet the actual sex); much like how the pheromones mix before we see it, the sand, the senses, the flesh, all that stuff is mixing in and while they are fumbling, fondling, so kind of ravishing each other in this rush to get their clothes off and have at it, she pulls the sluice (dick) and it is now hard. Concrete. Because the difference is, the cement isn’t necessarily concrete. The cement can be both his dick and his body (rather, their bodies), because cement can be the thick, heavy mixture and the concrete the final stage (maybe next to final in the sex metaphor, because then it’ll be laid down, stepped on (fucked?), etc).
my take on it.
Poetry is one of the greatest art forms because it is both visual, aural, and lingual. Words are nothing but hieroglyphs (I am not limiting this to the English language), visual artefacts. They can be viewed and not understood, only observed for the interactions. Or can be dissected and enjoyed like the insides of a squid. There’s no wrong way to eat a Reece’s, no?
I love to find out what things mean. What they mean to me, and then, possibly, to others. Reasons for things can either mean the death penalty or walking out of court a free person. Self defense or manslaughter.
It’s like saying, looking at life for meaning is why people don’t like life.
And yet every single day you look for meaning in everything. Especially you writers here, so if you write don’t ever try to argue this meaning thing. You wouldn’t write unless some sort of meaning rose out of the ether of whatever to smack you in your brain and make you write.
And readers…. meaning sprouts out of a sentence or line to hit you so hard you keep reading. Because some sort of meaning came out of it. The word meaning doesn’t mean (haaa) some universe changing epiphany like Jesus coming down and handing you a dove. It could very well be something that affects you. It *means* something to you, you just do not know what, or how, and then maybe you wanna figure out why it means something to you.
But yeah, nice sex poem PR.
Well…
how he writes her flesh came at me like sand caving into a chute, the chute is likely the open-mouth of his body, of his desires — the idea of the cement mixing bin of a truck. Without her, without her flesh, his “cement” (his dick) is flaccid. He “had cement for her” meaning he had wood. And “we became each other” is the mixing (but not yet the actual sex); much like how the pheromones mix before we see it, the sand, the senses, the flesh, all that stuff is mixing in and while they are fumbling, fondling, so kind of ravishing each other in this rush to get their clothes off and have at it, she pulls the sluice (dick) and it is now hard. Concrete. Because the difference is, the cement isn’t necessarily concrete. The cement can be both his dick and his body (rather, their bodies), because cement can be the thick, heavy mixture and the concrete the final stage (maybe next to final in the sex metaphor, because then it’ll be laid down, stepped on (fucked?), etc).
my take on it.
Poetry is one of the greatest art forms because it is both visual, aural, and lingual. Words are nothing but hieroglyphs (I am not limiting this to the English language), visual artefacts. They can be viewed and not understood, only observed for the interactions. Or can be dissected and enjoyed like the insides of a squid. There’s no wrong way to eat a Reece’s, no?
I love to find out what things mean. What they mean to me, and then, possibly, to others. Reasons for things can either mean the death penalty or walking out of court a free person. Self defense or manslaughter.
It’s like saying, looking at life for meaning is why people don’t like life.
And yet every single day you look for meaning in everything. Especially you writers here, so if you write don’t ever try to argue this meaning thing. You wouldn’t write unless some sort of meaning rose out of the ether of whatever to smack you in your brain and make you write.
And readers…. meaning sprouts out of a sentence or line to hit you so hard you keep reading. Because some sort of meaning came out of it. The word meaning doesn’t mean (haaa) some universe changing epiphany like Jesus coming down and handing you a dove. It could very well be something that affects you. It *means* something to you, you just do not know what, or how, and then maybe you wanna figure out why it means something to you.
But yeah, nice sex poem PR.
thanks for this wonderful comment michael.
sasha, your indifference makes you invincible. you win.
sasha, your indifference makes you invincible. you win.
why does childlike wonder exclude analytical thinking; each is an engagement that springs from a desire to cummune. what is more cage-like than binary opposition, other than an actual cage?
why does childlike wonder exclude analytical thinking; each is an engagement that springs from a desire to cummune. what is more cage-like than binary opposition, other than an actual cage?
always my favorite ee poem
always my favorite ee poem
yeah, but then when talking about text, we’d be limited to a discussion of our ‘feelings.’
Does the merit of a poem depend on its discussability?
yeah, but then when talking about text, we’d be limited to a discussion of our ‘feelings.’
Does the merit of a poem depend on its discussability?
i understand the sentiment expressed by nate and sasha and think they are wrong here. pr and keith were in discussion about a poem, wanted to see what other opinion was and posted it up for debate.
this is not a case of some smarmy asshole telling me “oh this poem means this dummy” which i think is the genuine reason why people do not like discussing the meaning of poetry.
so yeah nate and sasha can go fuck themselves. in the ass until they are concrete.
as far as the poem goes. i dunno. poetry is personal. it means different shit to every one including EE. my interpretation of the poem is about feeling whole, complete, one. this could be a spiritual or sexual completeness. i don’t know.
the last part “emerging complete” is what makes me think of this. some one who is strictly into sex doesn’t give two shits about taking two things and making them one. sex is sex. it feels good. i jab you with my prick. i shoot. i pull out. the end.
i also find it interesting that ee describes her as sand caving into a chute and he has concrete for her. the two move together and come out as one.
two things do not become one if i view sex purely as a physical act.
i do think their is significance in the C V A being capitalized.
maybe “cock vagina anus”.
who knows.
i understand the sentiment expressed by nate and sasha and think they are wrong here. pr and keith were in discussion about a poem, wanted to see what other opinion was and posted it up for debate.
this is not a case of some smarmy asshole telling me “oh this poem means this dummy” which i think is the genuine reason why people do not like discussing the meaning of poetry.
so yeah nate and sasha can go fuck themselves. in the ass until they are concrete.
as far as the poem goes. i dunno. poetry is personal. it means different shit to every one including EE. my interpretation of the poem is about feeling whole, complete, one. this could be a spiritual or sexual completeness. i don’t know.
the last part “emerging complete” is what makes me think of this. some one who is strictly into sex doesn’t give two shits about taking two things and making them one. sex is sex. it feels good. i jab you with my prick. i shoot. i pull out. the end.
i also find it interesting that ee describes her as sand caving into a chute and he has concrete for her. the two move together and come out as one.
two things do not become one if i view sex purely as a physical act.
i do think their is significance in the C V A being capitalized.
maybe “cock vagina anus”.
who knows.
this is not a case of some smarmy asshole telling me “oh this poem means this dummy” which i think is the genuine reason why people do not like discussing the meaning of poetry.
i think larry’s comment contributed to this thinking, using words like ‘definitely’ and ‘obvious’ to support the theory in the post.
i agree that people should be allowed to argue the meaning of poetry all they want, but I’m still always a little sad to see it happen cuz, like you say, poetry is personal, and i don’t like reading poetry like its a math problem to solve. i like to like poetry without knowing why. Poetry is an oasis away from analyzation for me, where i can read something and just be in a state of awe without thinking V + oA = @$$.
this is not a case of some smarmy asshole telling me “oh this poem means this dummy” which i think is the genuine reason why people do not like discussing the meaning of poetry.
i think larry’s comment contributed to this thinking, using words like ‘definitely’ and ‘obvious’ to support the theory in the post.
i agree that people should be allowed to argue the meaning of poetry all they want, but I’m still always a little sad to see it happen cuz, like you say, poetry is personal, and i don’t like reading poetry like its a math problem to solve. i like to like poetry without knowing why. Poetry is an oasis away from analyzation for me, where i can read something and just be in a state of awe without thinking V + oA = @$$.
true darby and i’m with you full force here, however, there is always a caveat and I think EE’s poetry IS that exception.
EE poetry reads like a logic puzzle to me. Like in my mind i see him laughing to himself as he constructed his poems. he wanted people to be a little confused and bicker about the meaning of the poetry.
so in this case i think the discussion is warranted.
true darby and i’m with you full force here, however, there is always a caveat and I think EE’s poetry IS that exception.
EE poetry reads like a logic puzzle to me. Like in my mind i see him laughing to himself as he constructed his poems. he wanted people to be a little confused and bicker about the meaning of the poetry.
so in this case i think the discussion is warranted.
fair enough
fair enough
Great great comments Jereme- thank you. I loved the idea of becoming whole..”the two move together and come out as one” –wonderful that you got that from it. Anyway, thanks.
I feel this
I feel this
darby,
the puzzle quality of his poetry is actually why i don’t like reading him much.
pr,
sure kid. nice to see more poetry on the giant.
fuck the h8rz
darby,
the puzzle quality of his poetry is actually why i don’t like reading him much.
pr,
sure kid. nice to see more poetry on the giant.
fuck the h8rz
Outside of loneliness, isolation, or connection with the author/poem. Yes. For me this piece has only gotten better as i have seen this discussion thread develop; my ‘state of awe’ or whatever has widened with this.
Just like when you don’t know a word, you look it up, and there’s an entry written by someone else that describes it. Then you know the word a little better, you see it somewhere else and somewhere else until you have a better sense of its tone/meaning.
Same goes for cumming’s ‘mathematics.’ The little games he plays help you develop your sensitivity. And then, same goes for discussion.
Outside of loneliness, isolation, or connection with the author/poem. Yes. For me this piece has only gotten better as i have seen this discussion thread develop; my ‘state of awe’ or whatever has widened with this.
Just like when you don’t know a word, you look it up, and there’s an entry written by someone else that describes it. Then you know the word a little better, you see it somewhere else and somewhere else until you have a better sense of its tone/meaning.
Same goes for cumming’s ‘mathematics.’ The little games he plays help you develop your sensitivity. And then, same goes for discussion.
analcunt-
“then you know the word a little better, you see it somewhere else and somewhere else until you have a better sense of its tone.meaning” –
I really like that sentence.
analcunt- okie dokie.
analcunt- okie dokie.
darby, just because poetry is an oasis from analyzation for you, doesn’t mean that other people don’t (and can’t) find joy and fulfillment in the masticating pleasures of linguistic layers: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and salty all along the taint. everyone has their tastes. there is the oasis of the mystery which opens up and closes over you unsolved, unresolved, a solvent in which one immerses and disappears. and there is also the intimacy of grappling with something to bring it closer into one’s own tetra-surfaced consciousness, which isn’t demarcated into segregated regions of logic and intuition and instinct, etc. to de-sever the distance and hold an object in one’s mind to thereby view all angles and accumulate through the succession of time an omni-perspective of the object, the slope of every contour, of which only one can be seen in any particular instance.
i’m in full agreement with michael james in his articulation of meaning, people subliminally engage in the activity of meaning-seeking and meaning-creation in everything they do, it’s inescapable: human beings are evaluators, they determine the value of a thing not only by saying it is thus, but in the very act of how a thing makes them feel, and that feeling is carried out in a variety of ways, whether it be a passive but rapturous or meditative awe, or an active seeking and poking and wiggling into the third eye that abides between the pillowy legs of all things.
darby, just because poetry is an oasis from analyzation for you, doesn’t mean that other people don’t (and can’t) find joy and fulfillment in the masticating pleasures of linguistic layers: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and salty all along the taint. everyone has their tastes. there is the oasis of the mystery which opens up and closes over you unsolved, unresolved, a solvent in which one immerses and disappears. and there is also the intimacy of grappling with something to bring it closer into one’s own tetra-surfaced consciousness, which isn’t demarcated into segregated regions of logic and intuition and instinct, etc. to de-sever the distance and hold an object in one’s mind to thereby view all angles and accumulate through the succession of time an omni-perspective of the object, the slope of every contour, of which only one can be seen in any particular instance.
i’m in full agreement with michael james in his articulation of meaning, people subliminally engage in the activity of meaning-seeking and meaning-creation in everything they do, it’s inescapable: human beings are evaluators, they determine the value of a thing not only by saying it is thus, but in the very act of how a thing makes them feel, and that feeling is carried out in a variety of ways, whether it be a passive but rapturous or meditative awe, or an active seeking and poking and wiggling into the third eye that abides between the pillowy legs of all things.
keith, you said: darby, just because poetry is an oasis from analyzation for you, doesn’t mean that other people don’t (and can’t) find joy and fulfillment in the masticating pleasures of linguistic layers: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and salty all along the taint. etc.
I said: i agree that people should be allowed to argue the meaning of poetry all they want etc.
we are in agreement, no?
keith, you said: darby, just because poetry is an oasis from analyzation for you, doesn’t mean that other people don’t (and can’t) find joy and fulfillment in the masticating pleasures of linguistic layers: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and salty all along the taint. etc.
I said: i agree that people should be allowed to argue the meaning of poetry all they want etc.
we are in agreement, no?
also, I never said anything about meaning, or that when I read poetry i’m not meaning-seeking. I am. I’m just doing it in a more personal, less-analytical way (which is like also I think what you’re describing) and I’m less inclined to discuss it I think. So when I see discussion or arguing about a piece of art I’ve already stared at, I don’t want that to infiltrate and change the meaning I’ve already got in my head. It’s like reading a book and then watching the movie of the book and having that experience destroy the way the book was in your head. It makes me a little sad is all because something got lost, that initial sense of what I felt when I first experienced it got lost underneath someone else’s analyzation. And I’m not saying this post shouldn’t have happened, it absolutely should have. The burden falls on me to simply ignore it.
also, I never said anything about meaning, or that when I read poetry i’m not meaning-seeking. I am. I’m just doing it in a more personal, less-analytical way (which is like also I think what you’re describing) and I’m less inclined to discuss it I think. So when I see discussion or arguing about a piece of art I’ve already stared at, I don’t want that to infiltrate and change the meaning I’ve already got in my head. It’s like reading a book and then watching the movie of the book and having that experience destroy the way the book was in your head. It makes me a little sad is all because something got lost, that initial sense of what I felt when I first experienced it got lost underneath someone else’s analyzation. And I’m not saying this post shouldn’t have happened, it absolutely should have. The burden falls on me to simply ignore it.
disagreE disagrEE DISAGree. only half-what. only in the part that i like so much how initial sensations change into so much something different over time. because then i can be like, a little bit at least, ‘ive change so much over time.’
disagreE disagrEE DISAGree. only half-what. only in the part that i like so much how initial sensations change into so much something different over time. because then i can be like, a little bit at least, ‘ive change so much over time.’
totally missed that ‘d.’
anyways
totally missed that ‘d.’
anyways
im totally falling into sleep on ‘complete poems 1904-1962.’ The first part, at after the directions to the further……… it looks like this: ‘Tulips & Chimneys’ / some of my dream droll on that page but nothing else too.
im totally falling into sleep on ‘complete poems 1904-1962.’ The first part, at after the directions to the further……… it looks like this: ‘Tulips & Chimneys’ / some of my dream droll on that page but nothing else too.
also like how any discussion of ‘meaning’ becomes a discussion of meaning as well as a discussion of ‘critique.’ both are important probably because both involve discussion and critique.
hope i got my words right.
sleep for me, or as well.
-buttpussy
also like how any discussion of ‘meaning’ becomes a discussion of meaning as well as a discussion of ‘critique.’ both are important probably because both involve discussion and critique.
hope i got my words right.
sleep for me, or as well.
-buttpussy
darby, my bad, i misread or conflated the subjective and objective statements of your comment. and re: ‘the burden to simply ignore it’, that’s true. yet i appreciate your sometimes sadness: the magic dissipating from exposure or imposition to other’s interpretations. that’s definitely happened to me. it’s a strange thing, being moved by something and so wanting to know more about it, but in finding out more the thing loses life and becomes a cadaver on the table. but there has also been the reverse for me, when discovering more has made something even more invigorated, as with lynch’s mulholland drive and impressionism in general; the interpretations allowed me to get inside each.
darby, my bad, i misread or conflated the subjective and objective statements of your comment. and re: ‘the burden to simply ignore it’, that’s true. yet i appreciate your sometimes sadness: the magic dissipating from exposure or imposition to other’s interpretations. that’s definitely happened to me. it’s a strange thing, being moved by something and so wanting to know more about it, but in finding out more the thing loses life and becomes a cadaver on the table. but there has also been the reverse for me, when discovering more has made something even more invigorated, as with lynch’s mulholland drive and impressionism in general; the interpretations allowed me to get inside each.
sorry. what i meant was, i don’t understand why talking about what the poem and the author meant mean anything. that the line by line examination and discussion of what they were trying to do was something that always turned me off about poetry. the search for meaning has never once appealed to me. or. the search for meaning in no way at all appeals to me at the point i am at and has not for some time at least any time worth talking about if such a thing is really real anyway. i didn’t intend to put anyone down for it. i in fact didn’t. but whatever. fuck it. poetry’s great. talk about it all you want. my personal preference is to experience a thing and internalize and attempt to be awed by it. i feel that awe is lacking in the world. and whenever i’ve tried to explain awe it always ends up disappearing in the act of explanation. i would much rather think about the lines and things i liked, and how they blew my mind, and just get excited and talk about how slammin they are. but whatever. we all have our own goals, and i guess mine is to just get assfucked into concrete. it’s just something i can’t understand the point of. but i don’t understand religion, and i don’t understand a lot of math, especially higher mathematics, and also science, and i can’t diagram a sentence, and lots of things confuse me.
sorry. what i meant was, i don’t understand why talking about what the poem and the author meant mean anything. that the line by line examination and discussion of what they were trying to do was something that always turned me off about poetry. the search for meaning has never once appealed to me. or. the search for meaning in no way at all appeals to me at the point i am at and has not for some time at least any time worth talking about if such a thing is really real anyway. i didn’t intend to put anyone down for it. i in fact didn’t. but whatever. fuck it. poetry’s great. talk about it all you want. my personal preference is to experience a thing and internalize and attempt to be awed by it. i feel that awe is lacking in the world. and whenever i’ve tried to explain awe it always ends up disappearing in the act of explanation. i would much rather think about the lines and things i liked, and how they blew my mind, and just get excited and talk about how slammin they are. but whatever. we all have our own goals, and i guess mine is to just get assfucked into concrete. it’s just something i can’t understand the point of. but i don’t understand religion, and i don’t understand a lot of math, especially higher mathematics, and also science, and i can’t diagram a sentence, and lots of things confuse me.
bobby don’t worry people talk about paintings the same way they talk about writings
bobby don’t worry people talk about paintings the same way they talk about writings
Haha. That is the most insincere apology I have seen in a long time. ” i didn’t intend to put anyone down for it. i in fact didn’t. but whatever. fuck it.” That’s really funny. “Who cares” is hostile and if you don’t understand that, then I’ll try to look into my heart and feel for you.
i like ee cummings, but poems like this i tend to skim over, maybe that is intellctual laziness on my part, i dont know.
i like ee cummings, but poems like this i tend to skim over, maybe that is intellctual laziness on my part, i dont know.
“my speciality is living said
a man (who could not earn his bread
because we would not sell his head)”
“my speciality is living said
a man (who could not earn his bread
because we would not sell his head)”
[…] It’s a poem. A classy, respected poem. About anal sex. And plus it does some cool things with language and breaking down words. There’s an interesting analysis about this poem over on HTMLGIANT. […]
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LoW
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myGODye
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Can anyone help me decipher this??? Im lost, and I need help!
her flesh came to me as sand caving into a chute
chute = enclosed slide you enter to fall
cement = semen?
CVA could be a joke about stroke (cerebro vascular accident) as orgasm
they become as concrete in post-coital repose
(sorry if somebody has already said all this… didn’t have time to read through all the comments)
5
n w
O
h
S
LoW
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myGODye
ss
Can anyone help me decipher this??? Im lost, and I need help!
her flesh came to me as sand caving into a chute
chute = enclosed slide you enter to fall
cement = semen?
CVA could be a joke about stroke (cerebro vascular accident) as orgasm
they become as concrete in post-coital repose
(sorry if somebody has already said all this… didn’t have time to read through all the comments)
meassandca, no matter, sexy none the less- me ass and then the last and first; came. words are so