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Damn it, Anne Sexton, now look what you made me do. I should be resting, but I poemed all over myself instead. All your fault. (Thank you.)
Damn it, Anne Sexton, now look what you made me do. I should be resting, but I poemed all over myself instead. All your fault. (Thank you.)
I love this woman. Spending the afternoon with her. If I must choose between The Moiraie of American 20th century literature--Dorothy, Sylvia, and Anne--I cast my thread of fate with Anne, every time, though I love and need them all.
