The Appetite Options

[saore]

The Appetite


Oh rising Lord of broken mirrors,
you are cheap paper towels
on wholesale, secret appurtenance
subjugating veil and breath
inside my concatenated purdha—alms
beggar with the tempestuous training sword,
cut-throat assassin of my visibility
shifting the clarities of my appetite
with whatever it is you crave
on the hour of my every hour.
Your steel indecision fans
the morning-glories of my bruised
and discolored skin.
This is the chaos you provoke!
It crystallizes into a myriad of
ignorant parakeets gawking
at my silk stockings, the ones
you desire but are afraid
to buy in public.

[saore]

thank you Snow, thank you. I have been studying Sylvia Plath and I have realized a writer has to skin himself every time s/he writes a poem. I guess I have found no better teacher than Sylvia Plath to show me that. Most of the time I have no idea what she is writing about, her poetry is not easy. I have to read the notes and do research to be able to understand her poems. I read the complete works of different poets on a monthly base. But Sylvia Plath has a place in my heart with Pablo Neruda, Tagore, and a few others. To me she is gigantic.

Sergio