This is Vincent’s tattoo.

By a mad miracle I go intact
Among the common rout
Thronging sidewalk, street,
And bickering shops;
Nobody blinks a lid, gapes,
Or cries that this raw flesh
Reeks of the butcher’s cleaver,
Its heart and guts hung hooked
And bloodied as a cow’s split frame
Parceled out by white-jacketed assassins.

- Excerpt from “Street Song” by Sylvia Plath.

(34 votes, average: 3.74 out of 5)

 Loading ...

« little birds | ache us to know »