Poetry / Poets

1 by Regina Mortua

A thought
is taking shape
while I travel in the train.
A quote
or may be many
of the same intertextual web
hovers the edges of my brain.
I try to think of something original
to express grief or pain
but in vain.
Every word is a cliché
said the French
philosopher to explain
that there is no meaning
nor sense.
The only meaningful sign
is the blank space
between the lines.

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One thought on “1 by Regina Mortua

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