e.e.Cummings

I

He jumped
(from a moving Dodge)
but soon learnt how to fall
awkward as ice-cream
(dropped on Mystic beach).
He tripped the purpose
of strides like donkey rides
(to nowhere special)
dramatics paused
by thin cups of black
small print written large
(as any funhouse).

II

Thought
showed us
a new move
off the top
of his nib,
like squibs
of Mozart's ink
flicked from
a fake baton,
or the tapping
snaps & crackles
of showering
meteorites,
as they spit
into the wind
of watching
breaths.

Tricky honey
plopped
from the spoon,
my tongue
still juggles
for the first
sweetness,
rolling the lather
of words into speech ,
bubbles popped
by your sharp lips.

John.G.Hall©2003