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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.

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
Children
Genius
Grandfather
Great
Told
Grand
Almost
Twelve
Story
Bought
Begat
Family
Piano
Pianos
Left
Tells
Considerable
True
Eight
Estate
Stories
Died
Estates

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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware...Beware...
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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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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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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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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women are born twice.
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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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sorrow is easier than guilt.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
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