poetry

Sylvia Plath and Co.
by Ernesto Superal Yee

mold feeding on an angel
food cake a simple
formula to vex self’s
special indulgence
to commit self to the dark
mysterious summit:

dainty pearls
to tightly hug
your ivory neck:
white flesh
that needs a sliding
caress from the sharp
stasis edge of Gillege’s
dour blade;

noon’s boiling pot
to scald
your punctuated red
pulp
                  or,
why not another close
of the capable pills?

there are lots of pretty
ways to push oneself
to a sleep-trip, yet
all are the same.

the damned self;
part of the great cortege.

just take the shiny ebony
locker.

Life’s perfect
gift:

Death is.

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