“Listen, for poets are feigned to lie, and I For you a liar am a thousand times . . . .”

“Them lady poets must not marry, pal.”

“I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.”

“I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored. Peoples bore me, literature bores me, especially great literature, ”

“ Two daiquiriswithdrew into a corner of a gorgeous roomand one told the other a lie.”

“Soon part of me will explore the deep and dark Floor of the harbour . . I am everywhere, I suffer and move, my mind and my heart move With all that move me, under the water”

“Dream Song 187Them lady poets must not marry, pal.Miss Dickinson—fancy in Amherst bedding hér.Fancy a lark with Sappho,a tumble in the bushes with Miss Moore,a spoon with Emily, while Charlotte glare.Miss Bishop’s too noble-O.That was the lot. And two of them are hereas yet, and—and: Sylvia Plath is not.She—she her credentialshas handed in, leaving alone two totsand widower to what he makes of it—surviving guy, &when Tolstoy’s pathetic widow doing her whung(after them decades of marriage) & kids, she decided he was queer& loving his agent.Wherefore he rush off, leaving two journals, & die.It is a true error to marry with poetsor to be by them.”