Plath you are
    Too much, staring
    From a forgotten time now
    Before me

    I can't help
    It, staring back:
    You almost smiling
    Almost inviting
    Almost happy,
    Content,
    In that time, war torn,
    Reduced now to the scans
    Of an image
    Of a photo
    On so many
    Sites and copyrighted.

    What could I wish
    For you
                From you
    With all
                My sex and words
    Spilling over?

    Are you now happy? they say,
    In caustic tones,
    Those who detest your protests
    Of your self.
    But are you,
    Plath, with that troubled stare
    Rendered across impossibility,
    Gray blue black
    (Caustic black)
    Where
                Ever you are
            .    .    .
 
 
 
 

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