The Little Poet Who Couldn't Find a Genre
Warning: this might be the nerdiest thing I have ever written -Bella Every year, the poet council has a party. The poets do not go, of course. They send their bodies of work. Like any party with one's colleagues, certain groups form. ee cummings (or his body of work) has always dreaded this party, because he didn't have anybody to hang out with. look at him. all alone up there... The mean-girls style map of the lunchroom of the annual poet dinner He tried to talk to different groups, but it never felt right. People do post me online quite a bit, thought ee cummings. But both of these women are still writing. I do make some rather pithy statements. But these two are much more interested in that. Nope, no way. I don't do *that* kind of confession. cummings didn't even try to join the Romantics. They were too busy drinking wine and dying of consumption. Not really. Well, the Freshman do read me in class. But I don'