lamdalamdalamda

lately i've been scouring my local newspaper stand, looking for lit mags to submit my poetry to. is there no more interest in formalism out there? am i barking up the wrong tree? looking at past issues of my own journal, i realize that i am.

my one, unending obsession is the impotence of language, the teetering connection between word and object, perhaps word as object. my best friend said i think too hard, not too much, but too hard. we watched a movie by dreyer, and ate ice cream. i though the entire time about what she meant.