ee cummings

I found this poem by e.e. cummings on a rumpled piece of paper in a stack of....stuff on my bookshelf. I think I had had it shoved in a pocket for a while in honor of poem-in-a-pocket day, or something like that.

Portraits, VII

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

e.e. cummings