Silvia Plath Depresses Me

February 21, 2011
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You, I, randomness
Climbing across the Alps.
The widow smiles through
Her gold ring, lashing
Yeast with a diamond whip.
Halo spins on my hand,
That thing fights and hides
In her little finger.
I’m through, Journal.
No, you can’t write that down,
It’s not eloquent enough.





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