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Sylvia et al: a poem


I am Plath, 
pre-heated. 

I am a Poe
of propotions.

Charlotte painted my yellow walls;
aunt Jennifer's curtains sewn.

The outside is terrified when I'm loose.

Jackson's state lottery will 
never grant me winning numbers.

No society of dead poets would allow me in. 

No tokens
No charmers 
No charms.

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