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Last night down Hanover Street,
that snaking backbone
  in the north end of Boston,
   you saw paper flowers,
    bursts of blood-red hearts
     and ruffled yellow fists

     and in the windows
    of limitless pastry shops,
   multi-story cakes
  slathered with icing
for weddings,
for partners in waiting.
Written: March 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time that may be part of my third-year university dissertation regarding Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. Feedback very welcome on all possible dissertation pieces. Please note the second and penultimate lines should be indented one space, but HP has failed to do this for some reason.
'Last night, down Hanover Street by all the elaborate Italian florists, with their great paper bouquets of flowers ... the innumerable pastry shops with seven-tiered wedding cakes ... came upon "Moon Street". A poem or story deserves that name.' Sylvia Plath journal entry - Monday 18th May 1959.
 Mar 2014 Lappel du vide
BB Tyler
The best poems never make it to paper,
they burn up before they reach the page.
 Mar 2014 Lappel du vide
BB Tyler
On the ferris wheel we steal a kiss,
careless zeal, no bits amiss,
slip into this, mind and timelessness,
twist wrist, spit lip like starshine, crisp.

Down below the kids get lit,
ripped,
hair wind flipped out,
broke mouths sip doubt,
shout fire-light, ice pout,
grown out the hometown,
grown loud, a fun crowd,
one's got the know how,
the others got the low down,
one shot the sheriff,
then the others hit the ground.

When he shot the sheriff
he kneeled,
we saw it from the ferris wheel.
the lion's snarl
dramatic
aggressive
yet nothing more
than empty threats


*I'm not afraid of you
 Mar 2014 Lappel du vide
Redshift
after he tries to be sweet
but the moment is gone
i don't want to be touched
 Mar 2014 Lappel du vide
Redshift
my **** star lips are not for you to taste
nor the "unhealthy" curvature of my hips
and waist.
i have made myself an object
(perfection in all traits)
love is no longer
left up to The Fates.
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