Thursday, December 24, 2009

AFTERNOON OF A FAUN

Sylvia Plath was 5’ 9” tall.

She looked up to Ted Hughes.

He was 6’ 6” tall.

Without a bicycle, Sylvia Plath felt like
she couldn’t have sex.

I don’t like to walk.

I like to ZOOM.

“You’re tall,” Sylvia Plath said, “I like that!”

And hunky.

Boys throw dirty snowballs at Sylvia Plath.

Sylvia Plath doesn’t know what to do when Morris is hypnotized stiff as a board, and falls down to the floor.

Boring.

Wait. There’s that Ted.

Sylvia Plath bites his cheek, and blood runs down it.

That Ted! Ted kissed her neck.

Parties in England are dull.

It’s cold out.

It’s toasty inside.

Everything else, we already know.

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