From what bowls of self-loathing and self-devouring. . .
logic/non-logic/denial/misogyny did this poem come? I'll explain that I was reading a study of Sylvia Plath's work bathed in subterranean psychic excavation, and I'll bookend it with the title of a cute little country song I may one day write if I ever move to Nashville. But I'm afraid I must own it... Sign in to see full entry.