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Melissa Spears

Sydney, Nova Scotia
By a mad miracle I go intact Among the common rout Thronging sidewalk, street, And bickering shops; Nobody blinks a lid, gapes, Or cries that this raw flesh Reeks of the butcher's cleaver, Its heart and guts hung hooked And bloodied as a cow's split frame Parceled out by white-jacketed assassins. Oh no, for I strut it clever As a greenly escaped idiot, Buying wine, bread, Yellow-casqued chrysanthemums - Arming myself with the most reasonable items To ward off, at all cost, suspicions Roused by thorned hands, feet, head And that great wound Squandering red From the flayed side. Even as my each mangled nerve-end Trills its hurt out Above pitch of pedestrian ear, So, perhaps I, knelled dumb by your absence, Alone can hear Sun's parched scream, Every downfall and crash Of gutted star, And, more daft than any goose, This cracked world's incessant gabble and hiss sylvia plath street song