voices to voices, lips to lips

voices to voices, lip to lip
i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes
undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes...
to exist being a peculiar form of sleep

what's beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated: i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May

___bring forth your flowers and machinery: sculpture and prose
flowers guess and miss
machinery is the more accurate, yes
it delivers the goods, Heaven knows

(yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake,
of ourselves which shout and cling, being
for a little while and which easily break
in spite of the best overseeing)

i mean that the blond absence of any program
except last and always and first to live
makes unimportant what i and you believe;
not for philosophy does this rose give a damn...

bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed
splendor of piston and pistil; very well
provided an instant may be fixed
so that it will not rub, like any other pastel.

(While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch
invents an instrument to measure Spring with?

each dream nascitur, is not made...)
why then to Hell with that: the other, this,
since the thing perhaps is
to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

e. e. cummings
1926

voices to voices, lips to lips

with heavy homage to e.e. cummings

voices to voices, lips to lips
i swear to you and to everyone else
that they make up the undying
of this sentiment that refuses to sleep

what's beyond logic can only be magic
in this moment that even God
cannot compete
i bring you no flowers but only
scuplture of my words
if you close your eyes
you'll miss their kiss

voices and lips are more than just for songs and kisses
who cares if some sons of bitches
insist that Spring be the opening
of hearts and smiles

i am not afraid to dream that and this
nor am i afraid to fly

Wissai/NKBa'
August 21, 2012

P.S.:

Folks, read again and very, very slowly my "improvement" on e.e.c's original and you will see, if you have any sensitivity and intelligence and linguistic facility, that my version attests to my poetic "genius" and sensitivity to the English language. This self-assessment is no mere hyperbole, but plain, unvarnished truth. Every monkey seems to inflate its sense of self-importance, but I don't think I am guilty of that stupid lack of objectivity. A few years ago, a not-too-bright woman reminded me of how she "rushed" to my "rescue" when I appeared "to be down in the dumps". I didn't reply to the stupid comment from the stupid woman who obviously was burdened with a pathetic sense of self-importance. First of all, I was never down in the dumps since I had met her--I might be annoyed and "raving mad" and melodramatic in the expression of my feelings, but never, never suicidal. Second, and this is a very important point, in the final analysis, only a parent is important to his/her child since the child's very survival actually depends on its parent's support. Between functioning adults, strictly speaking, nobody is that important to anybody else. We go through the motions, we come to the dance, but we all look for number one and don't actually give a fucking damn to anybody else. We give lip service to love and all that shit, but in our heart of hearts, it's all "me, me, me" and "the hell with you". That unspoken message was driven home to me on 2013's New Year Eve when I was hit hard with a massive toothache. I am on the mend now, but decidedly wiser about the so-called human love.