The Phonograph’s Voice Like A Keen Spider Skipping
The phonograph’s voice like a keen spider skipping
Quickly over patriotic swill
The,negress,in the,rocker by the,curb,tipping
And tipping,the flocks of pigeons. And the skil-
Ful loneliness,and the rather fat
Man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the
In the normal window. and a cat.
A cat waiting for god knows makes me
Wonder if i’m alive(eye pries,
Not open. Tail stirs.) And the. fire-escapes—
The night. makes me wonder if,if i am
The face of a baby smeared with beautiful jam
My invincible Nearness rapes
Laughter from your preferable,eyes
This poem was written by E. E. Cummings 1894 – 1962/Male/American.