For
the Bards of the Neurotic Abyss
I love to dream that I am
sleeping
With a suicidal poet
Sylvia was a dark princess.
Her madness was justified,
And for this reason she is
sleeping
With me in a dream
Anne Sexton, poor Annie
Her madness led her to
incest-yikes!
She was a bourgeois beauty
With a nice, lean body
And a penchant for being
A lesbian slut
Anne I love you down here
On lonely earth
Why did you have to
Swallow the poison?
You had it all, for you
were
Anne Sexton, the great
confessional
Poet
I would have loved you
Anne,
Why did you have to leave
so soon?
I would have wined and
dined you
I would have read Blake and
Dickinson to you
God, Anne, I hate to admit
it, but
You too are sleeping with
me in a dream
Anne you had life in the
Palm of your hand
And what did you do?
You sent your soul to
The promised land
I would have treated you
Like the mad princess
You were, the same way
I would have treated
Your friend Sylvia--
You remember that dark
princess,
Don't you?
She stuck her head in
An oven after she
Put her kids to sleep
Her shrink said she
Wasn't feeling well
And thus she plundered
Her life of all its joy and
light,
Letting the darkness give
her
A kiss goodnight
What a shame, two beautiful
Poets sleeping six feet
under
Rocky New England soil
Ghosts of valium verse
The bards of the living
abyss
Now hum their verse in
solitude
And now is the operative
word
Because now is eternity
And eternity dosen't lie,
Just speaks the language
Of shadows and light
Sylvia and Anne were
Two dark poets who dwelled
In a chaotic land--where
the
Mind tortures the heart
Sylvia and Anne chose death
To be their best friend
I would have saved you
If I had lived before you
Decided to die
I would have shown you
A brighter land, which I
carry
Along in the palm of my
hand
I would have read poetry
By prophets who dwelled in
The desert sands of a deep
And distant land
Who dressed in the clothing
Of the flesh
And drank wine with
Jerusalem's
Prostitutes
Eternity is the desert
where
The dead create
civilizations
Out of solitude
Where the ghosts of
Great poets sing silently
In remembrance of the sun
And whisper to the living
The secrets of a time that
now
Exists in the palace of
Kingdom Come
You Sylvia
You Anne
Dark princesses, cast
shadows
On the sun
Where mystics dwell with
madmen
And poets sing their songs
