Bored on the job, you see; the tail-end is vacuous, and I get a little wayward sometimes. Mind’s starting to go where the mishelved go – and socks. Lots of socks there.
“somewhere itis Spring and sometimes
people are in real:imagine
somewhere real flowers, but
I can’t imagine real flowers for if I
could, they would somehow
not Be real”
(so he smiles
smiling)”but I will not
everywhere be real to
you in a moment” – EE Cummings [XXIX (“in a middle of a room”)]
There are three others here and I – and one patron; it is as quiet as a library should be, which is irregular for ours.
This Is Just to Say
I have eaten
that were in
the icebox – William Carlos Williams
The old man across the floor is amorphous and white-haired and county.
the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church’s protestant blessings
daughters, unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things–
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
. . . . the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy. – EE Cummings [again]