pity this busy monster,manunkind... (XIV) by E. E. Cummings
pity this busy monster,manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victum(death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness -electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange;lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish returns on its unself. A world of made is not a world of born-pity poor flesh
and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell of a good universe next door;let's go
- e. e. cummings
|