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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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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.
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Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
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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.
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.
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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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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out of a man-to-man thing.
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stop the darkness and its amputations and find the real McCoy in the private holiness of my hands.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
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The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
Anne Sexton