The Rival (Sylvia Plath Poems)
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of ...
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of ...
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through ...
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardly crevices Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide. It is best to ...
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing. I have whirled the midwife's extractor, I have my honey, Six ...
Bare-handed, I hand the combs. The man in white smiles, bare-handed, Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet, The throats of ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball, This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear. Here's yesterday, last year --- ...
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it---- A sort of walking miracle, my skin ...
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted ...
Two girls there are : within the house One sits; the other, without. Daylong a duet of shade and light ...
The woman is perfected Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment, The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in ...
How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me ...
The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, ...
A Poem for Three Voices Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. ...
The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve. On their blotter of fog the trees Seem a botanical drawing ...
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