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Man is a bird full of mud, I say aloud. And death looks on with a casual eye and scratches his anus.

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
Full
Eye
Anus
Aloud
Death
Mud
Looks
Scratches
Men
Casual
Bird
Mankind

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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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I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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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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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
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I burn the way money burns.
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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.
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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
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