“The man was high yellow In public, afraid of himself, pretending his music Was material when in fact, it was the opposite: Like a breath that comes so quickly you know You’re breathing ether: either atmospheric And anonymous as the air against a window, Or indefinite & mute as a curtain of wind.” WritingPoetryPoemsPoetsAfrican AmericansBlacksLangston Hughes Book:American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin Source: American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin
“My hunch is that Sylvia Plath was not Especially fun company. A drama queen, thin-skinned, And skittery, she thought her poems were ordinary.” WritingPoetryGeniusPoemSylvia Plath Book:American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin Source: American Sonnets for My Past and Future Assassin
