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It would be pleasant to be drunk.

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
Pleasant
Drunk
Would

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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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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.
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I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
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My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.
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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 not lazy. I am on the amphetamine of the soul. I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.
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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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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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