My Little Loaf
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
- Sylvia Plath

Loaf with me?
"You can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world, that is something you are free to do with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid."
    1. 5 notesTimestamp: Tuesday 2012/06/05 20:25:45kafka
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