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e.e. cummings was a World War I era poet and pacifist ambulance driver and like Hemingway had his own swagger. His shtick is the lowercase language extending from his poems to his name - but you really won't mistake him for Don Marquis' archie after a while.
Edward Estlin Cummings also called New Hampshire home, or part-time home, I learned right here on BH. His family had a place in the lakes, and he died in Conway.
I keep wanting to quote him approvingly and his poems keep squirming away when I try to grab them. One slitherer that our free staters might like is below the fold. Don't let the snake thing put you off - he wasn't so sloppy and predictable to use that for a shudder...
when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage-
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age
when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
-and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close
when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn-valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude-and march
denounces april as a saboteur
then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind(and not until)