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  Nov 2018 zebra
lX0st
I numbly leap then look
Bounding rooftops stories high
Blood’s quickening pace
A blazing fight behind my eyes,
Constant chatter beneath my skin
Begging me to survive;
I counter, disdain
And dive to swift demise
  Nov 2018 zebra
lX0st
Sweet scent, my gravity
Carries me
Wandering
Through winding trees
Fallen leaves hiss at me
An omen, indistinct
Upon the clearing
My meadow stands empty, save for
A maple. Its sap,
Rust and wine,
A fountain of false prophets
From which I feast
Into scorched earth, I cough up teeth
Scarlet blood boiling
Back up at me
  Nov 2018 zebra
Lora Lee
This fragile heart
sometimes bursts into
the tiniest shards
                  of infinity
clear as crystal light
yet empty
as an ocean, waterless
longing
to be filled and filled
over and over
as I would fill you
to the brim
overflowing with
enough life
and love to heal
a thousand
                aching moons
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bnXkMNyc794
zebra Nov 2018
the world soul
an insane asylum
sediment the guts can't hold
makes me wretch
as the years bend this ridge poll
to the breaking point

a tuba plays booming
it is raven girl and singing skulls
swaying hips
all breath and heat
attended by carnivory
little Fuzzy Mijmark
necrophilia's friend
while men love sheep and bone
in shady coves
and droves of groves
hungry spiders' patient for obese flies
wait in shrouded silk
for the healing power of death
and their soul's new sunrise
in golden mourning's paradise
loving those they eat
marrow deep
zebra Nov 2018
the virgins ravenous vault
college girl ******
a seething abashment
with mixed loyalties
who belongs to no one
ferocious for annihilation
*** blast
poured out from essence
spread shanks
wet spot
hot shots
meditative and gleaming

huge hearted
she is one and many
choking on desire
far flung in Turkish bath fantasies
a singing **** tearing heaps of suns
like burns and spatters
her ***, a high pitched note
his ****, rage at bay
poised hot **** ****
gasping fire

*** criminal's

foot kissing
****** biters
Sylvia Plath was referred to as "The Smith College ******" in some biographical material. I love her poetry, like incredibly, and so by the proxy of her literature I remain very much in love with her both as a writer and as a woman, albeit a vivid fantasy. That love remains amplified by her suicide as I find myself still aching about her now, 50 years after her death. I remain continually mesmerized by the appalling dread, yet sensuality of her draped corpse hanging out of the oven. Her dead body is an ineffable poem of grace in form and shuddering despair. I always want to rescue her.... It gnaws! This poem is prompted by Sylvia Plath, a Goddess of modern language, her youthful passions, and inconsolable despair.
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