Cumins is, for ever ,at comings
And goings,a lover of humanity
Poem maker in the lap of death.
He doubles “e’ as in a “screetch”
Who is highly under-capitalized,
Holding secret life in his pants.
He holds secrets of us in them,
Making poems in a death’s trap
Making poetry up like woman.
In very smallness of our hours
We make up poems and a stuff
Between a coming and a going.
Until we drop our pants, where
We hold a life, ticking in poems
A poem maker’s in lap of death.
( On reading a poem entitled ‘humanity I love you” by e.e.cumins)