I don't think of Lousiville, Ky as conductive of poem-writing, but I just wrote one anways; lastnight I read H Vendler on Plath's "Edge," and suspect it inflects what follows, but I think it actually steals a phrase--the cold fold of the calla bit--from another Plath poem:

Longer Than Life

The cold
Fold of the calla

More calisthenics than
Lilly, light

Beam as
Load, lets an

Imagination

Go, transmutes gone to

Gold, filling

In the incisor, its root

Recalling opera, an aria

Mirroring a hearse, as if death

Hears life not

The longer

Note, Life’s inverse and

Essential to maintaining turns.