untitled. cummings.

your homecoming will be my homecoming-

my selves go with you,only i remain;
a shadow phantom effigy or seeming
(an almost someone always who's noone)

a noone who,till their and your returning,
spends the forever of his loneliness
dreaming their eyes have opened to your mourning

feeling their stars have risen through your skies:

so,in how merciful love's own name,linger
no more than selfless i can quite endure
the absence of that moment when a stranger
takes in his arms my very lifes who's you

-when all fears hopes beliefs doubts disappear.
Everywhere and joy's perfect wholeness we're.

1 comment:

shannon said...

i love him,for he writes
words - other that that English
grammer that bricks so straightly

in all of his comings/goings, ups/
outs, I see the dirty white pages, cloud-like expanding into the lonely drifted spaces in my mind

so that suddenly neurons connect and fire back into a scream of sight. and I open my mouth to touch you with these words of mine.
Too. glass is thick, but seeking entrance, myself finds its way, slowly, like staggering,
into your mind.

(I really like his poem, somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond