1 мин
Слушать(AI)The Fury Of Rain Storms
The rain drums down like red ants, each bouncing off my window.
The ants are in great pain and they cry out as they hit as if their little legs were only stitched on and their heads pasted.
And oh they bring to mind the grave, so humble, so willing to be beat upon with its awful lettering and the body lying underneath without an umbrella.
Depression is boring,
I think and I would do better to make some soup and light up the cave.
Anne Sexton
Anne Sexton (November 9, 1928 – October 4, 1974) was an American poet known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Pr
Комментарии
Вам нужно войти , чтобы оставить комментарий
Другие работы автора
Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild Wild Women
(from a song)Perhaps I was born kneeling,born coughing on the long winter,born expecting the kiss of mercy,born with a passion for quicknessand yet, as things progressed, I learned early about the stockadeor taken out, the fume of the enema<b...
Woman with Girdle
Your midriff sags toward your knees; your breast lie down in air, their nipples as uninvolved as warm starfish
The Starry Night
That does not keep me from having a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion Then I go out at night to paint the stars — Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his The town does not existexcept where one black-haired tree slipsup...
Cockroach
Roach, foulest of creatures, who attacks with yellow teeth and an army of cousins big as shoes, you are lumps of coal that are mechanized and when I turn on the light you scuttle into the corners and there is this hiss upon the land Yet I kno...
