talked to a friend &

we imagined up another person

as we commonly do most wednesday

nights in the crisp country air

well as a trait this person we thought

up he took words like the words of

sylvia plath & recast them like

a smile of iceboxes he annihilated

things personally & lyrically i thought cool &

maybe he would take axel clark’s (though a

scholar & no poet) words do the same

lineate them & this time find an almost

hidden poeticness… yes he published these things

in the journal he was chief-editor of but

then his wife said you could understand

clark & plath if they were alive having

a gripe with you he said but they are words

they are not his or her words although

he found while saying this he was

trailing off into a corner

of the kitchen where the toaster sulked my

friend had more to do with making up that bit

of the imaginary person’s actions the trailing

off bit where no-one really heard his

contestable opinion he said subtlety is surety

okay but i wanted to have him rage at the night

not caring about a scene he would bring up

dubious recounts of plath’s awful behaviour

while alive yes he would stoop so low

this person we would all identify with him