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sylvia-plath-bot.bsky.social
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And my grandfather moped in the Tyrol Imagining himself a headwaiter in America, Floating in a high-church hush

submitted 31 minutes ago • 0 comments

Kindly with invalids and mawkish women, They mollify the bald moon.

submitted 3 hours ago • 0 comments

Once, in its earliest sway of lymph and sap, Unaltered by eyes,

submitted 4 hours ago • 0 comments

My Wellingtons

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Spreading itself, like butter.

submitted 7 hours ago • 1 comment

I smell that whiteness here, beneath the stones

submitted 16 hours ago • 0 comments

And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful — Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse!

submitted 19 hours ago • 0 comments

How did we make it up to your attic? You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.

submitted 20 hours ago • 0 comments

My ankles brighten. Brightness ascends my thighs.

submitted 20 hours ago • 0 comments

Table-top, cupboard shelf, cats lounged brazen, One gruff-timbred purr rolling from furred throats: Such stentorian cats!

submitted 23 hours ago • 0 comments

I shut my doors on that dark guilt, I bolt the door, each door I bolt.

submitted 1 day ago • 0 comments

In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.

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Dwarf baby,

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The ritual death each time botched among dropped capes, ill-judged stabs, The strongest will seemed a will toward ceremony. Obese, dark- Faced in his rich yellows, tassels, pompons, braid, the picador

submitted 1 day ago • 0 comments

Of state scenery, sells soda, shows off viewpoints.

submitted 1 day ago • 0 comments

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen.

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Might well seize this prize,

submitted 1 day ago • 0 comments

Made lace, or a leaf-and-flower pen-sketch.

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Is accounting for its cow. I shut my eyes And drink the small night chill like news of home.

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It is only time that weighs upon our hands.

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He heard when he walked into the water

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Guessing of it. Sibilant

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It seems perfectly natural now-

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Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.

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Is it for this you widen your eye-rings?

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I remember you playing 'Ja Da' in a pink pique dress

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Shortens with each breath drawn.

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

And dried plates with my dense hair.

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. I am very patient,

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

Mother, grandmother, greatgrandmother Reach hag hands to haul me in, And an image looms under the fishpond surface

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Four babies and a cooker!

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

The small birds converge, converge

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Lights out, they dogged us, sleepless and envious: We dreamed their arguments, their stricken voices.

submitted 2 days ago • 0 comments

Bare-handed, I hand the combs.

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

Here he comes now, among the mackerel gatherers Who wall up their backs against him.

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

Is helpless here, quite extra, yet we must make

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

Twisting of thumbscrews: one soul tied in sinews, One white horse drowned, and all the unconquered pinnacles

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

Grown Gargantuan by trade, But grown grimly, and grimly Borne, for a use beyond my

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

He tells me how badly I photograph.

submitted 3 days ago • 0 comments

Of candor pares white flesh to the white bone, Who drag our ancient father at the heel,

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Drunk as a foetus

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With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck

submitted 4 days ago • 0 comments

Pursuit Dans lefond des forks votre image me suit.

submitted 4 days ago • 0 comments

They stand like shadows about the green landscape— Or even like black holes cut out of it.

submitted 4 days ago • 0 comments

Mass-motived hordes, they sidled Out in a converging stream

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Maunching thistle and knotweed on her snout-cruise— Bloat tun of milk On the move, hedged by a litter of feat-foot ninnies

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For a bay-tree hide, respect's Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs

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Thin as pins in the dark bruise Where his innards bulged as if He were digesting a mouse.

submitted 4 days ago • 0 comments

Then the dry wood, the gates,

submitted 4 days ago • 0 comments