“I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on the top of the beer can.”

“Out of the ash I rise with my red hairand I eat men like air.”

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.”

“So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the cold moon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh-fallen snow, with the myriad sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, to the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And does not smite me down.”

“The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,White as a knuckle and terribly upset.It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quietWith the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.--from "The Moon and the Yew Tree", written 22 October 1961”

“I am flushed and warm.I think I may be enormous,I am so stupidly happy,My wellingtonsSquelching and squelching through the beautiful red.”

“Ash, ash —-You poke and stir.Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——A cake of soap,A wedding ring,A gold filling.Herr God, Herr LuciferBewareBeware.Out of the ashI rise with my red hairAnd I eat men like air.--from "Lady Lazarus", written 23-29 October 1962”