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More poems by Anne SextonAnne Sexton | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by Anne SextonBooks by Anne Sexton

As It Was Written

Anne Sexton

Earth, earth,
riding your merry-go-round
toward extinction,
right to the roots,
thickening the oceans like gravy,
festering in your caves,
you are becoming a latrine.
Your trees are twisted chairs.
Your flowers moan at their mirrors,
and cry for a sun that doesn't wear a mask.

Your clouds wear white,
trying to become nuns
and say novenas to the sky.
The sky is yellow with its jaundice,
and its veins spill into the rivers
where the fish kneel down
to swallow hair and goat's eyes.

All in all, I'd say,
the world is strangling.
And I, in my bed each night,
listen to my twenty shoes
converse about it.
And the moon,
under its dark hood,
falls out of the sky each night,
with its hungry red mouth
to suck at my scars.

Added: 31 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 19 Apr 2018 4:58 PM | Viewed: 18431 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/553/ | Viewed on 19 April 2018.
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