I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? ----

Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.

--

i read some place that kurt cobain's widowed wife, courtney love, she was rejected from the mickey mouse club because she read a poem by sylvia plath.
it makes me want to laugh - that one of the best pieces of literature out there
was actually denied by a club that produced the psycho types like britney.

*coughs-.

poetry gets so intimate sometimes, it scares me.

it seems more intertwined than that of an unexpected kiss, or the most complicated arrangement of veins, etched deep within a person's body.

-the gorgeous strength of words.

conversation is everything.