Words heard, by accident, over the phone

Sylvia Plath

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O mud, mud, how fluid! ---
Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse.
Speak, speak! Who is it?
It is the bowel-pulse, lover of digestibles.
It is he who has achieved these syllables.

What are these words, these words?
They are plopping like mud.
O god, how shall I ever clean the phone table?
They are pressing out of the many-holed earpiece, they are looking for a
Is he here?

Now the room is ahiss. The instrument
Withdraws its tentacle.
But the spawn percolate in my heart. They are fertile.
Muck funnel, muck funnel --
You are too big. They must take you back!

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  • Aalhad

    Wow, this poem gave me chills! That line about "They are plopping like mud" really painted a vivid image in my mind. I can just picture the struggle of trying to keep the phone table clean! And the part with "the spawn percolate in my heart" is quite emotional.. Really unique and interesting poem, love the way it was written! Probably gonna read it again later!