The Wanderer
Kid A
given,
in her stomach
or an ash tray
a garbage man
and the ripe stench of love
will have its swell
as the breath of youth
climbs in her tomb
a bleat and a noose
the surface of the moon
stabbing thru her lips
like a fresh cut wound
in words and scissors
telling her that life has begun
she kisses it goodbye...
sweet nothings,
of shrink wrap
and balloon bursting
the afterbirth
red like dawn,
a newborn sun
happy birthday, baby
------------------
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
-Sylvia Plath
in her stomach
or an ash tray
a garbage man
and the ripe stench of love
will have its swell
as the breath of youth
climbs in her tomb
a bleat and a noose
the surface of the moon
stabbing thru her lips
like a fresh cut wound
in words and scissors
telling her that life has begun
she kisses it goodbye...
sweet nothings,
of shrink wrap
and balloon bursting
the afterbirth
red like dawn,
a newborn sun
happy birthday, baby
------------------
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
-Sylvia Plath