I’ve long been fascinated by the strange, multidimensional poetics of e.e. cummings. His work seems clearly to echo movements in the visual arts, and in fact he was also a painter whose early influences included Cubism, Dada, and Surrealism.

Sometimes amid the collage of neologisms and images he holds out until the final line to unveil a poem:

until No least
leaf almost stirs

as never (in
againless depths

of silence) and
forever touch
or until she
and he become

(on tiptoe at
the very quick
of nowhere) we
— While one thrush sings

–ee cummings, 95 Poems