nothing is more exactly terrible than

e e cummings

nothing is more exactly terrible than
to be alone in the house,with somebody and
with something)
You are gone. there is laughter.

and despair impersonates a street

i lean from the window,behold ghosts,
a man
hugging a woman in a park. Complete.


and slightly (why?or lest we understand)
slightly i am hearing somebody
coming up stairs,carefully
(carefully climbing carpeted flight after
carpeted flight. in stillness,climbing
the carpeted stairs of terror)

and continually i am seeing something

inhaling gently a cigarette(in a mirror