Plath to Lowell in a crowded coffee house

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A puff of powder,  a dab of lipstick
and sprinkle
of ozone-friendly aerosol to keep my hair subdued,
there is little that hasn’t been said
about what goes on inside
a Poet’s head; one suspects a double death,
for outside
even the sourwood blushes.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Marqquin, Unsplash

Posted for Quadrille #119 @ dVerse Poets Pub

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