mood

.

my mind is

a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and

taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and

chipping with sharp fatal tools

in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of

chrome and execute strides of cobalt

nevertheless i

feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am

becoming something a little different, in fact

myself

hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet

bellowings

 

| e. e. cummings

.

Done