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Why have your eyes gone into their own room?
Anne Sexton -
But suicides have a special language.Like carpenters they want to know which tools.They never ask why build.
Anne Sexton -
Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
Anne Sexton -
I have ridden in your cart, driver,waved my nude arms at villages going by,learning the last bright routes, survivorwhere your flames still bite my thighand my ribs crack where your wheels wind.A woman like that is not ashamed to die.I have been her kind.
Anne Sexton -
In my sights I carve himlike a sculptor. I mold outhis last look at everyone.I carry his eyes and hisbrain bone at every position.I know his male sex and I domarch over him with my index finger.His mouth and his anus are one.I am at the center of feeling.
Anne Sexton -
Dearest,although everything has happened,nothing has happened.
Anne Sexton
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All who love have lied.
Anne Sexton -
We are all writing God's poem.
Anne Sexton -
Even so, I must admire your skill.You are so gracefully insane.
Anne Sexton -
Beauty is a simple passion,but, oh my friends, in the endyou will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.
Anne Sexton -
God is only mocked by believers.
Anne Sexton -
I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss.I am pushing knives through the handsthat created two into one.Our hands do not bleed at this, they lie still in their dishonor.
Anne Sexton
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It would be pleasant to be drunk:faithless to my tongue and hands,giving up the boundariesfor the heroic gin.Dead drunk is the term I think of,insensible,neither cool nor warm,without a head or foot.To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.I will try it shortly.
Anne Sexton -
A woman who writes feels too much,those trances and portents!As if cycles and children and islandsweren't enough; as if mourners and gossipsand vegetables were never enough.She thinks she can warm the stars.A writer is essentially a spy.Dear love, I am that girl.
Anne Sexton -
My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
Anne Sexton -
The tongue, the Chinese say,is like a sharp knife:it killswithout drawing blood.
Anne Sexton -
My mouth blooms like a cut.I've been wronged all year, tediousnights, nothing but rough elbows in themand delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybabycrybaby, you fool!
Anne Sexton