E. E. Cummings, Genesis, and the Brothers Grimm.

Getting ready to start my third paper, the second-to-last of this whole program. Wow. I'm writing on the significance of spinning in fairy tales, the phallic imagery, the work the women (some dumb, some clever) were forced to do. Sometimes there's a turn of wits. The sky over here is complex and cloudy, so I feel at home in the weather. I miss people. Chances are, I probably miss you who are reading this too...

Anyways. Here's to procrastination.

_______________


in the beginning it was fresh
pregnant and swollen out and up
the sky could breathe and fly on pinions
like the birds it carried on currents
the heartbeat was clean


the dirt was clean we were clean
all over, my toes had no calluses and there were
no thorns for miles
and no punctuation to complicate
nothing to complicate nothing


and nothing can come from nothing
without a word or name, without abracadabra or
I AM
or a small glimmer of light up in the expansiveness
that collapsed in on itself because it felt like it.


how can this be nothing