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Category e. e. Cummings

The moon-lit snow is falling

  The moon-lit snow is falling like strange candy into the big eyes of the little people with smiling bodies and wooden feet hard thick feet full of toes left-handed kiss I think Berthe is the snow,and comes down into…

 The moon falls thru the autumn

     The moon falls thru the autumn    Behind prisons she grins, where people by huge whistles scooped from sleep land breathless on their two feet, and look at her between bars.    She stands greenly over the flat…

first she like a piece of ill-oiled

first she like a piece of ill-oiledmachinery does a few naked tricks next into unwhiteness,clumsilylustful,plunges—covering the soiledpillows with her violent hair(eagerly then the huge greedily Bed swallows easily our antics,like smooth deep sweet ooze wheretwo guns lie,smile,grunting.) “C’est la guerre”i…

my deathly body’s deadly lady

  my deathly body’s deadly lady smoothly-foolish exquisitely,tooled (becoming exactly passionate Gladly grips with chuckles of supreme sex my mute-articulate protrusion) Inviting my gorgeous bullet to vex the fooling groove intuitive… And the sharp ripples-of-her-brain bite fondly into mine,  …

through the tasteless minute efficient room

through the tasteless minute efficient roommarch hexameters of unpleasanttwilight,a twilight smelling of Vergil,as me bang(to and from)the huggering rags of white Latin fleshwhich her body sometimes isn’t(all night,always,a warm incessant gushof furious Paris flutters up the hill,cries somethings laughters loves…

along the justexisting road to Roupy

along the justexisting road to Roupylittle in moonlightgo silently by men(who will be damned if they know why) ou va-tu, Than-Time-Older withwish-bones legs & the five bidons?women in your eyes,death on your shoulder c’est madame de la guerrewith love-slovenlymouth,who has…

mr. smith

  mr. smith is reading his letter by the fire-light         tea-time                      smiles friend smith no type   bold o’s               d’s gloat…

beyond the stolid iron pond

beyond the stolid iron pondsoldered with complete silencethe huge timorous hillssquat like permanent vegetables the judging sun pinches smilinghere and there some huddling vastnessclaps the fattest finallyand tags it with his supreme blue whereat the just adjacent valleyrolls proudly his…