1 min read
Слушать(AI)Poppies In July
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing
And it exhausts me to watch
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colorless. Colorless.
Sylvia Plath
Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist, and short-story writer.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Mad Girls Love Song
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again (I think I made you up inside my head )The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
Admonition
If you dissect a To diagram the You'll cut the Articulating song
The Rabbit Catcher
It was a place of force—The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair, Tearing off my voice, and the Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the Unreeling in it, spreading like oil
Morning Song
Love set you going like a fat gold watch The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald Took its place among the elements Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival