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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.

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
Nobody
Morning
Flashes
Comes
Landlord
Like
Lamp
Daylight
Lamps
Flash
Friend

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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Thumbs grow into my throat. I wear slaps like a spot of rouge.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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I burn the way money burns.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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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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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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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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