of ghostly nothing

February 4, 2018

with acknowledgment to “Who” by Sylvia Plath

 

the ocean there is

it feels

 

to despair in

my harvest of hells

with wings trussed up

in remembrance

words break off

from the roots

 

the bent earth

hangs around in the wind

 

stopped germanium

stopped germanium

 

the glint of gas oven

slinks up & down

the flowerpot sky

i’m

this

my

blood

 

to write

 

to write

ellipses

backwards

knocking on

the childhood plaster

a bird will fly

 

Sylvia sleeps in a hornet’s nest

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