Dross
...for Sylvia Plath
Her grasp of things is gone,
she meddles, she is lost
with no prospect of redress.
She hovers shapeless,
rudderless in a
storm-toss'd mess.
Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
only dross.
(Note: One of her poetic devices
was the use of multiple double-
vowel and double consonant words.)
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