1 January 2010

pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not.  Progress is a comfortable disease:

your victum(death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness

-electrons deify one razorblade

into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish

returns on its unself.

A world of made

is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this

fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence.  We doctors know

a hopeless case if-listen:there’s a hell

of a good universe next door;let’s go

– e. e. cummings


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