It's late here and I am not going "somewhere I have never travelled" but am, as usual, pulling out hairs hopping that brilliant ideas may pop out of the empty pores left behind. Somewhat akin to the way in which the tensions established in a (good) poem resolve into a positive unity through the interplay of the poem's parts, or the view that consciousness is an emergent property, I hope that from the ashes of my midnight fire will rise an eloquent and thought provoking analysis of E.E. Cummings "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond" as seen through the lens of Cleanth Brooks' views on the nature of poetry.

Adieu