Sylvia Plath

(Caused by Sylvia Plath’s “Fever 103°”)

Pulse, Plurality, 

Precarious spleen 

Rupture with gentility.

Hell is here now,

Licking at the future, dull, intricate, 

Wheezing about every unthought.

The computers. The computers. 

So clean

The indelible brain. 

Stop moving under carbon. 

The high smoke tolls. 

Almost familiar?— from Nietzche’s tongue 

The eternal return. 

Waterwheel trundles by torrents of kisses and love, 

Love, love. 

The weak, the lechers 

All drink the same water that cools the robots’ lectures.

Fuse blubber and data. 

Make unthought. 

Find the unthought!

⸻

Still, 

I am purified by resting underneath man. 

Not men the things, but man himself. 

There, I am the world.

The moon,

Exchanging glances at the sun

Like the fleeting senses that make up everything. 

If I could reverse gaze

I would burn it all.

Save the tinder cries of virgins 

And that yellow sullen smoke 

Would perfume the space around all matter,

Energy—

Without skin and meat, it costs nothing.

But, that place is the same

Don’t you see!

A growing huge white camellia.

Antithesis of alloy 

And pure acetylene.

Attended by something

More than wetware. 

To Paradise is roaming around neath 

The trees, the hues, the thoughts, the covers

Not with dancing by programmed cherubim.

“Owl’s talons clenched” your unthinking heart 

You then boastfully put your head 

In the oven. 

^^^

Coby Hobbs is an Audere contributor and editor.