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

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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.
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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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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
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Death's in the good-bye.
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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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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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A woman who writes feels too much.
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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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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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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
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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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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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