pity this busy monster,manunkind, <br /> <br />not. Progress is a comfortable disease: <br />your victum(death and life safely beyond) <br /> <br />plays with the bigness of his littleness <br />-electrons deify one razorblade <br />into a mountainrange;lenses extend <br /> <br />unwish through curving wherewhen until unwish <br />returns on its unself. <br /> A world of made <br />is not a world of born-pity poor flesh <br /> <br />and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this <br />fine specimen of hypermagical <br /> <br />ultraomnipotence. We doctors know <br /> <br />a hopeless case if-listen:there's a hell <br />of a good universe next door;let's go <br /> <br /> - e. e. cummings<br /><br />e.e. cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pity-this-busy-monster-manunkind-xiv/
