polite red shoes for sylvia plath;
"pair me with," she said
a cream curtain-flowered dress and unnecessary stockings.
I continued thinking,
bauxite mangoes and hot sour mouths,
the sun made brown beautiful in its tan,
climbing between her green bean teeth, I clenched
and built a tongue full of talk with bilabial ingredients.
"share with me, that cigar-ette"
a mission to mars on august 19th,
she'd find a man to shag and a woman to love
this was political, triumphant, a gramatical error
between her legs, she parted them too often
and sometimes when I looked between,
I almost saw nothing.
wretch[ed] sylvia? i almost spat
maybe in a sandbox somewhere
outside mamma's sight, I'd build her a cage
to shed that hair, to practice being born a father
and make sweet love to buzzes on better sunny days.
even so, he was beautiful
he made her best dress walk out with snazzy shoes
and I grew jealous
a broken leg, she could not shag
her cat got fat
she tripped down a cobble stone street
and bumped into some cars,
go sylvia go!