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written by: R. Bremner


for Sylvia Plath


The door was locked;
white wine incense
draped the table.
Feeding on our youth,
a supper of wit,
we dined,
occasionally pausing
to say grace beneath the table.

From outside the silver dining room,
echoing off the walls
in the halls of the sterile palace,
computer banjos
spewed rueful tunes
of monogrammed secrecy.
Singular incest
was the rule of the hour
for those who would play the game
I wanted to play, I think,
(did you?)
till you explained
the player’s entry fee
disguised till the final whistle blows.

So go back to chewing your bubblegum
or whatever you do nowadays;
I’ll bust open the locked door
with one good strong kick.

R. Bremner

R. Bremner

R. Bremner has written of incense, peppermints, and the color of time since the 1970s.. He appeared in 1979’s first issue of Passaic Review, the same issue which featured Allen Ginsberg. Please check out his books Hungry Words (Alien Buddha Press), Absurd (Cajun Mutt Press), Ektomorphic (Presa Press), Pencil Sketches (Clare Songbirds Publications), and Chambers (New Feral Press). He lives with his beautiful sociologist wife, brilliant son, and frisky Plott Hound in Glen Ridge, New Jersey, USA.
R. Bremner

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