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I would like to think that no one would die anymore if we all believed in daisies but the worms know better, don't they? They slide into the ear of a corpse and listen to his great sigh.

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
Dies
Slides
Better
Corpses
Great
Worms
Would
Sigh
Think
Believed
Thinking
Anymore
Daisies
Like
Ears
Corpse
Listen
Slide

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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside
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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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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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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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