I had written something long and rambling interpreting this poem, talking about self-image and projection and the like. It’s gone now. I’m just going to get to the point.


e e cummings’ poems are, in a strange way, good for me. They wrench my mind out of the overly analytical space it usually occupies. This one’s a particular favorite, especially the first line, especially the fact that the first line isn’t quite complete.


So, new ink. I’m quite pleased with it.

Categories: Uncategorized Tags: ,
  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: