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Young Writers Society


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While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Maudlin (1956)
by Sylvia Plath

Mud-mattressed under the sign of the hag
In a clench of blood, the sleep-talking virgin
Gibbets with her curse the moon's man,
Faggot-bearing Jack in his crackless egg :

Hatched with a claret hogshead to swig
He kings it, navel-knit to no groan,
But at the price of a pin-stitched skin
Fish-tailed girls purchase each white leg.


It's a dramatic situation almost every time you answer the phone—if you answer the phone.
— Matthew Weiner