Reading Sylvia Plath

Taken in the very early hours of the morning,
inspired but the words and mood of Sylvia Plaths
‘Insomniac’
“The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole . . .
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. …”