The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn line <br />Ousts mistier peers and thrives, murderous, <br />In establishments which imagined lines <br /> <br />Can only haunt. Sturdy as potatoes, <br />Stones, without conscience, word and line endure, <br />Given an inch. Not that they're gross (although <br /> <br />Afterthought often would have them alter <br />To delicacy, to poise) but that they <br />Shortchange me continuously: whether <br /> <br />More or other, they still dissatisfy. <br />Unpoemed, unpictured, the potato <br />Bunches its knobby browns on a vastly <br />Superior page; the blunt stone also.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poems-potatoes/
