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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.

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
Tree
Heart
Like
Starving
Windows
Nails
Trees
Drive
Window

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Depression is boring, I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out of a man-to-man thing.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death.
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I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
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