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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.

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
Around
Lady
Outlived
Never
Democrat
Spleen
Men
Awful
Hating
Time
Dog
Elderly
Lived
Boston
Full
Hats
Greater
Democrats
Hate
Dogs
Humps

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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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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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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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God is only mocked by believers.
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All in all, I'd say, the world is strangling.
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Evil is maybe lying to God. Or better, lying to love.
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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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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.
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