Steven Godin’s Reviews > Etcetera: The Unpublished Poems of E.E. Cummings > Status Update
Steven Godin
is on page 150 of 192
the other guineahen
died of a broken heart and we came to New York.
I used to sit at a table, drawing wings
with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept
remembering how your mind looked when it slept
for several years, to wake up asking why.
So then you turned into a photograph
of somebody who's trying not to laugh
at somebody who's trying not to cry
— Sep 22, 2020 09:45AM
died of a broken heart and we came to New York.
I used to sit at a table, drawing wings
with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept
remembering how your mind looked when it slept
for several years, to wake up asking why.
So then you turned into a photograph
of somebody who's trying not to laugh
at somebody who's trying not to cry
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Steven’s Previous Updates
Steven Godin
is on page 44 of 192
What is thy mouth to me?
A cup of sorrowful incense,
A tree of keen leaves,
An eager high ship,
A quiver of superb arrows.
What is thy breast to me?
A flower of new prayer,
A poem of firm light,
A well of cool birds,
A drawn bow trembling.
What is thy body to me?
A theatre of perfect silence,
A chariot of red speed;
And 0, the dim feet
of white-maned desires!
— Sep 13, 2020 12:01PM
A cup of sorrowful incense,
A tree of keen leaves,
An eager high ship,
A quiver of superb arrows.
What is thy breast to me?
A flower of new prayer,
A poem of firm light,
A well of cool birds,
A drawn bow trembling.
What is thy body to me?
A theatre of perfect silence,
A chariot of red speed;
And 0, the dim feet
of white-maned desires!
