E. E. Cummings

One April Dusk The

one April dusk the sallow street-lamps were turning snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when i entered a mad street whose mouth dripped with slavver of spring chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into a mid-victorian attic which is known as O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ and having ordered yaoorti from Nicho’ settled my feet on the ceiling inhaling six divine inches of Haremina   in the thick of the snick- er of cards and smack of back- gammon boards i was aware of an entirely dirty circle of habitués their faces like cigarettebutts, chewed with disdain,     led by a Jumpy Tramp who played each card as if it were a thunderbolt red- hot     peeling off huge slabs of a fuzzy language with the aid of an exclamatory tooth-pick And who may that be i said exhaling into eternity as Nicho’ laid before me bread more downy than street-lamps upon an almostclean plate “Achilles” said Nicho’ “and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”

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