Sunday, October 14
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autumn has gone:will winter never come?

o come,terrible anonymity;enfold
phantom me with the murdering minus of cold
open this ghost with millionary knives of wind
scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and

gently
         (very whiteness:absolute peace,
never imaginable mystery)
                        descend
 - E. E. Cummings
winter has come early here
happy birthday E. E.









  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov