in praise of weight

"there are possibly 2 ½ or impossibly 3 individuals every several fat thousand years" ~ e.e. cummings fat thousand years, a rich millennium, a pendulum swung heavy, regal, slow a fruit so ripe its flesh dents under thumb when plucked from branches laden, angled low let time be fat, and men and women ample let never belly sour, hungry for hope let us live large, and make a great example let our grand dances avalanche downslope our words have weight; our actions can make matter of airy thought and insubstantial dream life is a feast, heaped like a groaning platter made succulent with butter, oil and cream believe, dear heart – they only do you damage who try to trim you down until you vanish

brawl scrawl

How doth the frimbling donnybrook bisect a torrid flan Then find a winding tumbleweed to drape its scrapes upon? The nether weather's never clear enough to glimpse the mist Betwixt the fixtures' baffled laughters, fearful of a twist. Just listen. Welters melt, and gilded geldings pine for mates. Their late embraces face the svelte erasure of the dates When shoes wear feet, and dews compete to drench the desert's jowls. Its muffled scuffle rips its lips free of their grip - and howls. Horrendous mendicants relax. Though taxed until they bruise, They'll spin thin sinews into strings that other things can use. Heaped deep in narrow barrows that depend upon red wheels, The toil they spend won't end until the oil defeats the squeal. Oh, never doubt that out's a smaller side of wall than in. Only a strong belong lets more than trifling life begin. Let conflagrations sizzle, drizzle overmatching blaze, And shed predation for the lore of one who humbly prays.