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 ...
Angels of the love affair, do you know that other,the dark one, that other me?1. ANGEL OF FIRE AND GENITALSAngel ...
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 was thinking of a son. The womb is not a clock nor a bell tolling, but in the eleventh ...
A young man is afraid of his demon and puts his handover the demon's mouth sometimes…— D. H. LawrenceI mentioned ...
I was tired of being a woman,tired of the spoons and the post,tired of my mouth and my breasts,tired of ...
Somebody who should have been born is gone.Just as the earth puckered its mouth, each bud puffing out from its ...
Anger, as black as a hook, overtakes me. Each day, each Nazi took, at 8:00 A.M., a baby and sauteed ...
My doctor, the comedian I called you every time and made you laugh yourself when I wrote this silly rhyme... ...
For my mother, born March 1902, died March 1959 and my father, born February 1900, died June 1959 Gone, I ...
A woman who writes feels too much, those trances and portents! As if cycles and children and islands weren't enough; ...
If you danced from midnight to six A.M. who would understand? The runaway boy who chucks it all to live ...
Your daisies have come on the day of my divorce: the courtroom a cement box, a gas chamber for the ...
Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out. No bigger than a two-year-old whom ...
Sing me a thrush, bone. Sing me a nest of cup and pestle. Sing me a sweetbread fr an old ...
1. Old Man Old man, it's four flights up and for what? Your room is hardly bigger than your bed. ...
Everything here is yellow and green. Listen to its throat, its earthskin, the bone dry voices of the peepers as ...
Because there was no other place to flee to, I came back to the scene of the disordered senses, came ...
If I could blame it all on the weather, the snow like the cadaver's table, the trees turned into knitting ...
Child, the current of your breath is six days long. You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed; lie, ...
Take away your knowledge, Doktor. It doesn't butter me up. You say my heart is sick unto. You ought to ...
A born salesman, my father made all his dough by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo. A born talker, ...
1. Mother, my Mary Gray, once resident of Gloucester and Essex County, a photostat of your will arrived in the ...
Sleeping in fever, I am unfair to know just who you are: hung up like a pig on exhibit, the ...
Like Oedipus I am losing my sight. LIke Judas I have done my wrong. Their punishment is over; the shame ...
This is the key to it. This is the key to everything. Preciously. I am worse than the gamekeeper's children ...
Who's she, that one in your arms? She's the one I carried my bones to and built a house that ...
So it has come to this insomnia at 3:15 A.M., the clock tolling its engine like a frog following a ...
In his tenth July some instinct taught him to arm the waiting wave, a giant where its mouth hung open. ...
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