National Poetry Month

[brigdh]

Yours Is The Music For No Instrument by E. E. Cummings

yours is the music for no instrument

yours the preposterous colour unbeheld



—mine the unbought contemptuous intent

till this our felsh merely shall be excelled

by speaking flower

                      (if I have made songs



it does not greatly matter to the sun,

nor will rain care

                      cautiously who prolongs

unserious twilight)Shadows have begun



the hair’s worm huge,ecstatic,rathe….



yours are the poems i do not write.



In this at least we have got a bulge on death,

silence,and the keenly musical light



of sudden nothing….la bocca mia “he

kissed wholly trembling”



                              or so thought the lady.