SYLVIA PLATH IS KILLING ME

For years I have nurtured
this low grade fever
watching my ego die
with Holy Indifference
burning away my wishes
like blasphemous prayers
on paper leaves
of absence
from my suffering

No longer will I try
to place the stranger
in the mirror
barely exhisting
on the surface of a watermark
rippled by the pure breath
birthed from pollution
fed by destruction
transformed into healing light
photosynthesis
from grief to bliss

With the faith
of Kierkegaard's Abraham
I will carry on
on the strength of the absurd
and fail happily
live anonymously
struggle in harmony
weep selflessly
act with secret nobility
I will leave the rewards
with the spoils of war
and offer my gifts
unexploited