My New Affair

My infection, inclination, subterranean
Shall it be, a warm bathtub sleep
Anxiety pills, whiskey on the rocks?

Did I ask you to ask? No, I am here
Reading your words, on the recommendation
From a lady who stuck her head in the oven

She thought highly of you, so why, why
This fascination, obsession, direction
To the carpenter’s questions, never asked

Never asks why, die, die, die
Is it that the razor blade is too dull?
Is it that you are not yet high enough to fall?

I am on that girder, in the skyline
Perched above the metropolis, eating my lunch of fear
Wondering why I am here, dear, my dear

It is no craft, it is criminal, this theft
Of my senses, drawing me in, with your poison
Creative poison, tumultuous, I could stir it

In my coffee, you look like you love coffee
Or is it tea? Anything, anything, will you
Just spend a little time with me, with me?

She won’t mind, she’s too busy
Being interviewed, or writing of giant statues
And prison camps, and pink fizz

And you walk in, grabbing me, dragging me
Into some sort of pact I have not agreed to
I just got here, slow down, I just met you

There you are, the pair of you
Whispering in my ears, “It is painless”
Hawkeye and Trapper sang of it

But for now, I want none of it
Just your company, that is it
Anne, Sylvia, don’t fight over me.

This poem stems from my listening to a Sylvia Plath interview in which she said she like a fellow poet Anne Sexton. Unfortunately both of them respectively committed suicide, Sylvia in 63, and Anne in 74.

I’ve been seriously suicidal in the past myself. Not now, but been there. Their poetry I can so identify with. I reference both poet’s imagery in this poem. IE, “the carpenter” of Anne Sexton’s “Wanting To Die”. And Sylvia Plath’s “The Applicant” , “Colossus”, “Daddy” and “Cut”.

Of course this is an imaginary conversation with Anne, as if all three of us were at a party that Plath invited me to, and Anne tried to steal me from her. It is really dark in meaning, meaning the “pact” I did not agree to.


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