Saturday, August 15, 2009

#230

lady will you come with me into
the extremely little house of
my mind. Clocks strike. The

moon’s round,through the window

as you see and really i have no
servants. We could almost live

at the top of these stairs,there’s a free
room. We almost could go(you
and i)into a together whitely big
there is but if so or so

slowly i opened the window a
most tinyness,the moon(with white wig
and polished buttons)would take you away

–and all the clocks would run down the next day.

-e.e. cummings