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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Sinks
Undo
Lifetime
Sun
Built

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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.
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Need is not quite belief.
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
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The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.
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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
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Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.
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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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