Twodaysago, I washoldingmybeautifulsoninmyarmslikethis.
Helookedmedirectlyintheeyesandwe'rehaving a verygoodfathersonbondingmomentashesneezedintomymouth.
Longstoryshort, I have a cold.
Somybrain's gottinychickensinitand I'm notthinkingsuperclearly, but I didwatchyourvideoanditdidn't makemethink a bunchofthings.
And I wanttoworkthroughthis.
Solet's do a backandforthlikewe'rehaving a realconversationexceptthat I knowwhatyou'regonnasayandyouhavenoideawhat I'm gonnasay.
God, I keptthinkingaboutthat.
E E.
Cummingspoemthatbeginsspringislike a perhapshand, whichcomescarefullyoutofnowhere.
I likehowHereyouassumethat I knowan e e.
Cummingsproblem.
It's adorable, and I hadtolistentothislinelikeseventimestostarttogetmymindaroundwhatitmeans, whichsometimes I feellikeit's thepointofpoetry, likeit's oneofthoseboxesthatyouhavetodo a secrettofigureouthowtoopenit, exceptit's madeofwords.
Itsoundslike I'm whining, but I likethoseboxesanyway.