Maxioms by Sylvia Plath
For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.
What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
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What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind.
What does one woman see in another than a man cannot see? Tenderness
What does one woman see in another than a man cannot see? Tenderness
