Wednesday, July 18, 2012



—for Sylvia Plath

It’s happening—
Will it go away?
It’s worse than Kafka
Turning into a Cockroach

It’s still going on—
It’s not going away
It’s worse than Gogol
The Nose that got away

Here it comes again—
It’s not very pretty
It’s worse than Roth
I’m a Breast now

Nobody loves me—
I’ll be a Gas Bag next
Breathing in and out
I’m having a relapse

The War is over—
Ticker tapes glide
Down past my window
Another victory parade

Lights out—
A soft anonymous
Voice: “Are you all right?”
A starched, young nurse

I’m a paralytic—
I’ve got delusions of grandeur
Next I’ll be a giant statue
The Statue of Liberty

The clock strikes midnight—
Suddenly I wake up and
Now I’ve turned into the
Jackie Kennedy Lincoln

I ask for a pain pill—
They give me an enema
I’ve become Maria Montez
Queen of Cobra Island

I’m on the Orient Express—
Marlene Dietrich visits me
She gives me a blowjob
Her mouth full of pearls

Lolita shows up—
Whispers “I’m your daughter”
She does her hula-hoop act
Down there where I hurt

Am I cracking up?—
Do they waltz in Vienna?
Does the sun come up
Everyday in the East?

My eyes, nose and ears—
Surely they’re deceiving me
Cellophane surrounds me
I’ve been packaged cheap

I nod knowingly—
I’m a magnolia now
A shawl of Spanish Moss
Covering my face

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