Her poem at The Montucky Review.
A personal mood folds into the objective correlative of nature. A poem spoken with living, mysterious symbols and images, instead of with not those things.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
This is where my thoughts pool as a reservoir of miscellany and peculiarity. It's actually not my brain that's dripping -- it's my soul that's leaking. It's really no big deal.
No comments:
Post a Comment