Monday, August 31
e.e. cummings &, N, &: SEVEN POEMS, VI
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky—filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
in love and flowers pick themselves
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if you want to, you can say a little hello here. i wouldn't mind it at all.
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