Tilt Wall Mirror
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Can anyone tell me if I present this poem to a literary magazine?
I go through a wall of protection. A cold spell on me. My breath is sharp, cold air fills me. I breathe, and my vision is clouded by a fog cloud of fog. My head is tilted upward and I see a jet black blanket adjustment of the earth, dotted with bits of bright light, as if someone had broken a mirror and let the pieces fall into the sky. A fat world, suspended in the air, veiled in wisps of clouds that gradually gliding in the breeze. The mottled surface is strangely beautiful world is bright area lights up the eyes, and not I keep thinking … 'm the only one in billions, that can happen over a simple threshold, and yet, being immersed in these overwhelming feelings.
That was beautiful. Definitely to be submitted, he Famou one day.
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