E.E. Cummings

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Omdat ik vandaag jarig ben trakteer ik jullie op één van mijn favoriete dichters met een mooi, toepasselijk gedicht.

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My mind is

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

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