contemplating silvia plath no.1

facts are flies, robbed
of the nourishment of meat
they swarm and squabble
create patterns in chaos
then collapse

momentary truths, woven
into a narrative of lies
a constellation of facts
permutated into infinite
tales

sorceress, breeder of flies
eggs hatched in your skull
maggots wriggled through
your eyes, your tongue
gave them flight

they ate you like an infestation
life feeding on life, turning in
on itself, no light penetrating
the chrysalis, in which your
nightmares morphed

you simply ate yourself
should your bones
be conjured up, Christ-like
would you recognize the textile
could you unpick
the weave you wove

your needle sharp words
stitched your shroud
gave voice to your mute corpse
it wraps, it's all flies flies flies
it's all flies