Sylvia Plath visits me in 93

Watching you in your nakedness is satisfaction shared Between my mind and your femininity.

The silhouette of your body, the moon drowns your skin. Your Round breast with hard nipples I yearn to hold gently in my palms. Your shinning hair fell around your fair skin, outlining your shoulders in the shadows of a desire for an understanding love, I stretch out to embrace you between the fragmented air of your being. As I nestle closer to you by my dark fears of love,

Unhappily I will fall asleep in your embrace alone, my nightmares being touched by your wet lips, reaching for my brown soul; god that another demon who reaches for my soul, calling me home, it’s a whisper my soul recognizes when I lie next to a woman; Am I home between your breast? God will not reach me this night, for another demon will arise in my dreams. Torturing me in that corner of my childhood mind, cigarette burns, the flame from the stove touching my skin from a distance; no tears this night, only screams, my screams, your softness, your smooth softness and the cold blowing wind between my legs. Am I in the middle of Hell? Could this be Heaven? No, it’s neither hell nor heaven but the in-between of death and life, never to be amused by your sweet tasting sweat as my cold fingers run along your pubic hair.

It’s then-between that calls me to my death of life, dancing naked in the pan of blood memories, no not your blood, my blood casts aside your dreams of saving me. I will be saved in the dirt of my thoughts and the clinging hair between you and me.

Is this reality or a mad dream? Madding dreams on the psyche ward while strapped to the bed, the camera overhead and me underneath the straps within a tortured mind screaming; you could be those straps against my flesh, how do I know for sure? Nothing has been real since the body hanging from that rope above the dining room table in my neighborhood; he could not cry out as I do in the night.

Blood crawling down the elevator walls for months. I’m expecting pieces of the body to come down the wall after the crawling blood, it’s madding I know but flesh does come to pieces sometimes; when the silver straight razor cuts across the black throat and the red blood comes out of the parted skin; Are you are unaware? Are you aware of this?

While, you sleep, and I dream of death. No intercourse tonight I may not be able to untie myself from these straps of love; Oh what a fiend you are: holding me, touching me in this sensual way; one more drink and I shall sleep and you can hold me, keep me alive while I die lying against that wall, with that .22 caliber gun against my temple at age 8 just like those electrodes from those shock treatments when I was 36. My brain a bowl of oatmeal with glistering chunks of sugar and sour evaporated milk I ate that cold morning before going to elementary school while the icicles melted in the pre-raising sun;

If only my spirit would have a rising like a sun in those gray skies; my Soul would have lived, and you would be real lying next to me; rather than these leather restraints. No more razor blades, no more shoe strings, no escape from the walls of blood and swinging body. The gunfire has creased and so have the yells from babies and screaming adults trying to escape the violence. I would have jumped off the overpass if I believed I would die instantly all broken up and run under by those oncoming cars unable to stop before tossing me up and around in the air like a part of the high wire act with the black tar net finally catching me.

Oh, Sylvia if I could be sure that you are here at this moment with me surrounded by padded walls and strapped down being prepared for a modern-day embalmment, I would go with you and leave this divide of living death. Please take this warm tear lying on my cheek and leave me to die alone knowing you know me as well as I know you.

Thursday, October 28,29, 2004