W.H. Auden- "What's in your mind, my dove, my coney."
The voice distortion frightens me. I sound rather like a 2-pack-a-day woman or like some aggrestive tibe of phlem has colonized my throat. Perhaps I'll try to achieve the same effect again with Baudelaire. I'm just learning, Chickadees. Bear with me.
PS: I think I should note here that Miss. R convinced me we should post our first read of each poem. My radio producorial skills cry out for editing but you're getting it here raw.
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Furtively poetical. Consumed with everything.
2 comments:
Oh, but you sound so lovely! (You really do.) Isn't it strange how our voices become abstracted from ourselves? I expect to be disconcerted all month.
very surreal. I'm currently full of phlegm so the next one should be interesting.
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