The Sleepers (Sylvia Plath Poems)
No map traces the street Where those two sleepers are. We have lost track of it. They lie as if ...
No map traces the street Where those two sleepers are. We have lost track of it. They lie as if ...
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver, It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless. ...
A dream tree, Polly's tree: a thicket of sticks, each speckled twig ending in a thin-paned leaf unlike any other ...
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children. Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb Where the yew trees blow ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers. When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember, Me, sitting here bored ...
How far is it? How far is it now? The gigantic gorilla interior Of the wheels move, they appall me ...
First, are you our sort of a person? Do you wear A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch, A ...
A Poem for Three Voices Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. ...
It is no night to drown in: A full moon, river lapsing Black beneath bland mirror-sheen, The blue water-mists dropping ...
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardly crevices Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide. It is best to ...
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