John Murray classes week of Nov. 26, 2012

(nothing whichful about

thick big this

friendly

himself of

a boulder)nothing

mean in tenderly

whoms

of sizeless a

silence by noises

called people called

sunlight

(elsewhere flat the mechanical

itmaking

sickness of mind sprawls)

here

a living free mysterious

dreamsoul floatstands

oak by birch by maple

pine

by hemlock spruce by

tamarack(

nothing pampered puny

impatient

and nothing

ignoble

)everywhere wonder

if (touched by love’s own secret)we, like homing

through welcoming sweet miracles of air

(and joyfully all truths of wing resuming)

selves,into infinite tomorrow steer

-souls under whom flow(mountain valley forest)

a million wheres which never may become

one(wholly strange;familiar wholly)dearest

more than reality of more than dream-

how should contented fools of fact envision

the mystery of freedom?yet,among

their loud exactitudes of imprecision,

you’ll(silently alighting)and I’ll sing

while at us very deafly a most stares

colossal hoax of clocks and calendars

  

I love this poem by ee cummings and wondered if you could use it as grist for your visual mill.
See you next week, john.