5 Jun 2013, 12:50pm
Writing
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if there are any heavens / e.e. cummings

if there are poems in the sky
these clouds are my tears
the warm rain my face
the wet road my road

your wet gravel is candy
your roads cut through many fields
always in clover
the highways have nothing to do with them—they are hostile

now and then you make mad strips/stripes
from nothing
your shed is blowing over
& its rusted roof

while rosebushes collect rainwater
from empty rainbarrels

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