Friday, January 30, 2009
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About Me
- Oceanus Procellarum
- from the edge of the deep green sea..., Ontario, Canada
- A woman who writes feels too much. A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl. My mouth blooms like a cut. Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark. I am unbalanced - but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering.... The womb is not a clock nor a bell tolling, but in the eleventh month of it's life I feel the November of the body as well as the calendar. Well then - speak of it! It was in the womb all along. The woods are underwater, their weeds are shaking in the tide. - Anne Sexton