Apr 23, 2013
Nothing was ever what it claimed to be, the earth, blue egg, in its seeping shell dispensing damage like a hollow hell inchling weeping for a minor sea
ticking its tidelets, x and y and z. The blue bene ficence we call and spell and call blue heaven, the whiteblue well of constant waters, deepening a thee,
a thou and who, touching every what and in the or, a shudder in the cut— and that you are, blue mirror, only stare
bluest blankness, whether in the where, sheen that bleeds blue beauty we are taught drowns and booms and vowels. I will not.Â
— from Karen Volkman's "Two Sonnets," published in Chicago Review 49:2.Â
