Tag Archives: anne sexton

Song of Hope

They kill poets in these parts don’t they? When I got here I saw Walt Whitman’s wizened head out back impaled on a stake flies buzzing round its concomitant rot and stench I heard one of the locals say it … Continue reading

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Anne Sexton

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading

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Anne and the Clouds

Anne, lovely disturbed Anne, pinned by gravity, and bedded to cobbles, cherishing the vagrant destiny of clouds, and calming distance.

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Anne Sexton

  In a ballroom gown, the suicide was delayed– Beauty, will you stay?    

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Solvent

Water, like a tempera of fog, buoying the natal intent, the fragile rapture, against which gravity sets an insoluble course.

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Double Exposure

I. There is strange music in her head, a choir’s brew. You cannot see it but, in the bask of a sunchecked idle, she drifts beyond ordinary logic to dream of water like melted locks, like aquamarine flowers silk to … Continue reading

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Morningbreak

  I want to eat Anne Sexton for breakfast like toxic cereal like bacon fat like sunbursts of egg yolk swallowed whole and washed down with a glass of fire (then I will spit up the flames burning down the … Continue reading

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Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

Anne Sexton: tall and lovely and dead, and I, turning the knob, want to get in and fuck her, but cannot, because she is dead. So really, I wanted to, past tense.                                                             The point being: how I wanted to … Continue reading

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