The poem
voices to voices,lip to lip i swear(to noone everyone)constitutes undying;or whatever this and that petal confutes... to exist being a peculiar form of sleep
what's beyond logic happens beneath will; nor can these moments be translated:i say that even after April by God there is no excuse for May
-bring forth your flowers and machinery:sculpture and prose flowers guess and miss machinery is the more accurate, yes it delivers the goods,Heaven knows
(yet are we mindful,though not as yet awake, of ourselves which shout and cling,being for a little while and which easily break in spite of the best overseeing)
i mean that the blond abscence of any program except last and always and first to live makes unimportant what i and you believe; not for philosophy does this rose give a damn...
bring on your fireworks,which are a mixed splendor of piston and of pistil;very well provided an instant may be fixed so that it will not rub,like any other pastel.
(While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneyed son for a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with?
each dream nascitur,is not made...) why then to Hell with that:the other;this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flower and not to be afraid.
risk your GPA for a life spent on sensuality. forget philosophy and purpose, for life's purpose is simply a good daydream.
when he makes himself clear, cummings has a beautiful outlook on life. all that constitues this life is voices and lips, life face to face with life. There is no excuse for anything, no reason why may should follow april. "The blonde absence of any program..." but that of life. Our beliefs are of no import to the world, which is a condemnation of anything but a life lived. Screw science, eat flowers.
Voices to voices
its weird, yet beautiful. How he interacts with life and compares to flowers as they shrivel and die.