Hurry Up Please It’s Time (Anne Sexton Poems)
What is death, I ask. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling ...
What is death, I ask. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling ...
No matter what life you leadthe virgin is a lovely number:cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper,arms and legs made of ...
You always read about it:the plumber with the twelve childrenwho wins the Irish Sweepstakes.From toilets to riches.That story.Or the nursemaid,some ...
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,full of white shirts and salad greens,the icebox knocking at our ...
Anna who was mad,I have a knife in my armpit.When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.Am I some ...
I was wrapped in blackfur and white fur andyou undid me and thenyou placed me in gold lightand then you ...
One day He tipped His top hat and walked out of the room, ending the arguement. He stomped off saying: ...
Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out. No bigger than a two-year-old whom ...
1. Old Man Old man, it's four flights up and for what? Your room is hardly bigger than your bed. ...
The speaker in this case is a middle-aged witch, me- tangled on my two great arms, my face in a ...
Here, in the room of my life the objects keep changing. Ashtrays to cry into, the suffering brother of the ...
God loafs around heaven, without a shape but He would like to smoke His cigar or bite His fingernails and ...
Take away your knowledge, Doktor. It doesn't butter me up. You say my heart is sick unto. You ought to ...
One day He tipped His top hat and walked out of the room, ending the argument. He stomped off saying: ...
Let the flowers make a journey on Monday so that I can see ten daisies in a blue vase with ...
You always read about it: the plumber with the twelve children who wins the Irish Sweepstakes. From toilets to riches. ...
Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit. When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages. ...
Father, this year's jinx rides us apart where you followed our mother to her cold slumber; a second shock boiling ...
No matter what life you lead the virgin is a lovely number: cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper, arms and ...
What is death, I ask. What is life, you ask. I give them both my buttocks, my two wheels rolling ...
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours, full of white shirts and salad greens, the icebox knocking ...
I was wrapped in black fur and white fur and you undid me and then you placed me in gold ...
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