terça-feira, 16 de junho de 2009

The Hanging Man

By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.

The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard's eyelid:
A world of white bald days in a shadeless socket.

A vulturous boredoom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did.

Silvia Plath, Ariel, Relógio d'Água, 1996.

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