Saturday, April 28, 2012

E Z Off

Sylvia Plath's spirit spoke to me
as if she were the
god damn Oracle Of The Oven.

Sylvia say,
"Oh, girl,
give it up.
You think this world gonna change?
You think the rain gonna stop half way down the sky
to save your fuckin' 'do?"

She say,
"Do what I do.
Pretend it's a workout show.
Crawl in like this,
and breathe in deep and slow."

So I say,
"Who is Sylvia,
what is she,
that all our swains commend her?
What kind of half-assed soul was she
that a kitchen appliance should end her?"

I say,
my Love, she leave me last on her list.
Not feelin' loved,
it sucks dead donkey lips,

Damned if I'm gonna snuff it here
with chicken grease in my hair.
Damned if Pete the repairman say,
"It don't work because
there's a damn dead girl in there."

something good might happen any time.
Oh look, that made me laugh.


Kerry O'Connor said...

I adore the iconoclastic way in which you have evoked the suicidal spirit of Sylvia. The head-in-the-oven approach is just so unglamorous an end! This is the best of your black humour at work, and the subtle undertones of the narrator's genuine heartbreak are evident, nonetheless, to the discerning reader.

hedgewitch said...

The Pete the Repairman line ruined me for the rest of the night(morning--whatever it is now.) I'm with you all the way, girl--after all this shit, I'm not giving *any* of them the satisfaction of quitting. And yeah, but still...

Lydia said...

Hah! Well this sure traveled off the beaten plath!

I about died with this:
what is she,
that all our swains commend her?
What kind of half-assed soul was she
that a kitchen appliance should end her?"

Once again, you astound me with your creative..... everything.

Lynn said...

"something good might happen any time" - that is true!!!! :)

Meanwhile - I cracked up at Pete the repairman.

TexWisGirl said...

'it don't work 'cause there's a damned dead girl in there' ha!

nene said...

I'm so entertained by your mind and the thoughts and how you process them and how you seem to step back and view yourself almost objectively like a out of body experience and continued run-on ideas that you interweave them and kiss donkeys on lips and and and and.

I have electiric everything in my house. My oven is electric and I used to have straight black hair. Now I look like Jimmy Hendrix at Woodstock and my mustache used to look like Leroy Nieman's wonderful handlebars. It now looks like I kissed a donkey but not on his lips.
Moral of the story: Don't try it in an electric oven

Love your mind ?-{p

Marion said...

Girl, you crazy. But in a good way. The girl in that oven is hot. LMAO!!! xoxo

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh your black humor just slays me. Ha ha, love Marian's comment. It is a riot in here this morning. Thank goddess we can laugh, or we'd be hooped. "Dead donkey lips"?????? HOW DO YOU DO IT????????????????

ellen abbott said...

fuck that ex-lover. let them do the final deed.

Shawna said...

Very clever title, missy. Have you read her journals? They are SO much better than her poetry.

Buddah Moskowitz said...

yes, that's what saved me many a time from cashing in -the thought that it might get better, or more appropriately, waiting around to see just how much shit would fly my way. Either way it got the blade off my wrist. Que Sera sera! Lovely, thumb yo nose at all poetry. Sylvia Plath no, Dorothy Parker yea! Stay alive long enough to be a crone! That's my plan, love el mosk

Mama Zen said...

I am officially slain.