Notice The Convulsed Orange Inch Of Moon

E. E. Cummings

notice the convulsed orange inch of moon
perching on this silver minute of evening.

We’ll choose the way to the forest—no offense
to you,white town whose spires softly dare.
Will take the houseless wisping rune
of road lazily carved on sharpening air.

Fields lying miraculous in violent silence

fill with microscopic whithering
…(that’s the Black People, chérie,
who live under stones.) Don’t be afraid

and we will pass the simple ugliness
of exact tombs,where a large road crosses
and all the people are minutely dead.

Then you will slowly kiss me

Next 10 Poems

• E. E. Cummings : O Distinct
• E. E. Cummings : O It's Nice To Get Up In,the Slipshod Mucous Kiss
• E. E. Cummings : O Sweet Spontaneous
• E. E. Cummings : O Thou To Whom The Musical White Spring
• E. E. Cummings : Of Evident Invisibles
• E. E. Cummings : Of This Wilting Wall The Colour Drub
• E. E. Cummings : One April Dusk The
• E. E. Cummings : One!
• E. E. Cummings : Paris;this April Sunset Completely Utters
• E. E. Cummings : Perhaps It Is To Feel Strike

Previous 10 Poems

• E. E. Cummings : Nobody Loses All The Time
• E. E. Cummings : Nearer:breath Of My Breath:take Not They Tingling
• E. E. Cummings : My Sonnet Is A Light Goes On In
• E. E. Cummings : My Smallheaded Pearshaped
• E. E. Cummings : My Naked Lady Framed
• E. E. Cummings : My Mind Is
• E. E. Cummings : My Love Is Building A Building
• E. E. Cummings : My Love
• E. E. Cummings : My Girl's Tall With Hard Long Eyes
• E. E. Cummings : Little Tree