there's something somehow intimate
about the act of writing:
I mean with paper and a pen,
alone, words circling the brain
and taking shape like little desert
caravans across the page,
strung out on the horizon
of each rigid line, not rigidly,
but shimmering like heat mirage
with visions of the inner eye...
Athens 1998
writing
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №207101300116
Свидетельство о публикации №207101300116
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