Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 05, 2006


I am the      blue egg

I am the      earthquake

that slips in slight within the night
and barely stirs a thing

I am the      blank space

cerebral lull      that takes place

when thoughts are blind and wild unwinding
nothings what it seems

Posted by Delire at May 5, 2006 12:45 PM

Hi Maureen!

The blue egg is floating in my brain now, haunting me like a ghost, stirring memories of Emily Dickison. Thank you. Your poetry is beautiful, stirring. Searing.

I thought of some journals you might check out, if you haven't already: The Chicago Review, Rain Taxi, The Boston Review, The Threepenny Review, Fence. I already mentioned Conjunctions, ZYZZYVA, and Another Chicago Magazine.

I have been a little out of my mind the past few days, plagued by obsessions. But you know this already; you saw me on Sunday. I think I am just a bit unhinged by the prospect of my father's operation. But the prognosis is very good and everything should really be fine. We will call when we are back in town.


Posted by: Florencia at May 15, 2006 09:19 AM
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