Crawling Out Of The Swamps Where You Buried Me Like The Setting Sun And The Moon Rises An Enemy.

Come, shining lyre, speak to me--gain the power of utterance. ἄγι δὴ χέλυ δῖα μοι λέγε φωνάεσσα δὲ γίνεω. --Sappho, fr. 118

Liberty Avenue, Pittsburgh, 1940

Circe Invidiosa by John William Waterhouse (1892)

things from sappho to call your girlfriend

ἀστέρων πάντων ὀ κάλλιστος (of all the stars, the fairest)

πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα, χρύσω χρυσοτέρα (far sweeter-sounding than the lyre, far more golden than gold)

τὰν ἰόκολπον (violet-tressed, one with violets in her lap)

ὦ κάλα, ὦ χαρίεσσα κόρα (o beautiful, graceful girl)

ἦρος ἄγγελος ἰμερόφωνος ἀήδων (nightingale, sweet-voiced messenger of spring)

Trying to tame the electricity in my veins

Trazodone, Xanax, Abels and ‘caines

I think this weekend I’ll go on an alcohol bender

But at least drinks are free when you’re the bartender.

I imagine spring arrives black dress, thigh boots, satin glove begrudging and disinterested for 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒 has left her love. I imagine she's kept her habits from the dark depths of hell blowing smoke in the face of daffodil and bluebell. The world opens up with sweetness and glee and she rolls her eyes muttering "yeah... It's me."

— Carolina Outcrop

The Pittsburgh Press, Pennsylvania, January 14, 1935

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Laika's still up there. not her body, sure, but her soul is. i saw it through my telescope one night when i was looking for aliens. she was sniffing for table scraps under saturn's ring. she chases comets and bites down on satellites. i saw her napping by neptune, she was kicking her feet. passing through the oort cloud is like the stroke of a hand on her fur. eyes like marbles and four little paws like flames. she bobs through jupiter's moons like cold moscow streets. up there the stars are a great big field. and look, she's running so fast. god damn, look at her go.