E. E. Cummings


Picasso you give us Things which bulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mind you make us shrill presents always shut in the sumptuous screech of simplicity (out of the black unbunged Something gushes vaguely a squeak of planes or between squeals of Nothing grabbed with circular shrieking tightness solid screams whisper.) Lumberman of The Distinct your brain's axe only chops hugest inherent Trees of Ego,from whose living and biggest bodies lopped of every prettiness you hew form truly

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