Death & Co.
—for Sylvia Plath
Two. Of course there’s two.
It seems perfectly fey now.
John Malcolm Brinnin the fag.
His lover nelly Bill Reid.
Visiting us at Court Green.
A pair of simpering homosexuals.
Traveling all the way from America.
To entice Ted with a teaching job.
There at the University of Connecticut.
A 3-way ticket back without me.
Dido Merwin was bad enough.
Assia and all the other girlfriends.
But these two friends of Capote.
Fawning, effeminate, smirking queers.
Two bastards masturbating a glitter.
The one fag who never looks up.
His eyes lidded like a coy crocodile.
The other with yellow gloves, a lisp.
Verdigris of condor suit & tie.
Hair greased back with Brilliantine.
They reek with faggoty death.
Weak wrists, a mince, much too fey.
Exaggerating it, their nelly trademarks.
After my handsome wolfish husband.
Shall I let them have him, hmm?
—for Sylvia Plath
Two. Of course there’s two.
It seems perfectly fey now.
John Malcolm Brinnin the fag.
His lover nelly Bill Reid.
Visiting us at Court Green.
A pair of simpering homosexuals.
Traveling all the way from America.
To entice Ted with a teaching job.
There at the University of Connecticut.
A 3-way ticket back without me.
Dido Merwin was bad enough.
Assia and all the other girlfriends.
But these two friends of Capote.
Fawning, effeminate, smirking queers.
Two bastards masturbating a glitter.
The one fag who never looks up.
His eyes lidded like a coy crocodile.
The other with yellow gloves, a lisp.
Verdigris of condor suit & tie.
Hair greased back with Brilliantine.
They reek with faggoty death.
Weak wrists, a mince, much too fey.
Exaggerating it, their nelly trademarks.
After my handsome wolfish husband.
Shall I let them have him, hmm?
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