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

The Death King

Anne Sexton

I hired a carpenter
to build my coffin
and last night I lay in it,
braced by a pillow,
sniffing the wood,
letting the old king
breathe on me,
thinking of my poor murdered body,
murdered by time,
waiting to turn stiff as a field marshal,
letting the silence dishonor me,
remembering that I'll never cough again.

Death will be the end of fear
and the fear of dying,
fear like a dog stuffed in my mouth,
feal like dung stuffed up my nose,
fear where water turns into steel,
fear as my breast flies into the Disposall,
fear as flies tremble in my ear,
fear as the sun ignites in my lap,
fear as night can't be shut off,
and the dawn, my habitual dawn,
is locked up forever.

Fear and a coffin to lie in
like a dead potato.
Even then I will dance in my dire clothes,
a crematory flight,
blinding my hair and my fingers,
wounding God with his blue face,
his tyranny, his absolute kingdom,
with my aphrodisiac.

Added: 31 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 23 Jan 2018 10:50 AM | Viewed: 7822 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/621/ | Viewed on 23 January 2018.
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