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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345468" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Errand</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've been going right on, page by page,<br>since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,<br>two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,<br>double-crossing out lives with doubt,<br>leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But then I've told my readers what I think<br>and scrubbed out the remainder with my shrink,<br>have placed my bones in a jar as if possessed,<br>have pasted a black wing over my left breast,<br>have washed the white out of the moon at my sink,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">have eaten The Cross, have digested its lore,<br>indeed, have loved that eggless man once more,<br>have placed my own head in the kettle because<br>in the end death won't settle for my hypochondrias,<br>because this errand we're on goes to one store.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That shopkeeper may put up barricades,<br>and he may advertise cognac and razor blades,<br>he may let you dally at Nice or the Tuileries,<br>he may let the state of our bowels have ascendancy,<br>he may let such as we flaunt our escapades,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">swallow down our portion of whisky and dex,<br>salvage the day with some soup or some sex,<br>juggle our teabags as we inch down the hall,<br>let the blood out of our fires with phenobarbital,<br>lick the headlines for Starkweathers and Specks,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">let us be folk of the literary set,<br>let us deceive with words the critics regret,<br>let us dog down the streets for each invitation,<br>typing out our lives like a Singer sewing sublimation,<br>letting our delicate bottoms settle and yet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they were spanked alive by some doctor of folly,<br>given a horn or a dish to get by with, by golly,<br>exploding with blood in this errand called life,<br>dumb with snow and elbows, rubber man, a mother wife,<br>tongues to waggle out of the words, mistletoe and holly,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">tables to place our stones on, decades of disguises,<br>wntil the shopkeeper plants his boot in our eyes,<br>and unties our bone and is finished with the case,<br>and turns to the next customer, forgetting our face<br>or how we knelt at the yellow bulb with sighs<br>like moth wings for a short while in a small place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Sexton">Anne Sexton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345468" data-title="The Errand de Anne Sexton" data-description="I've been going right on, page by page,
since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage,
two hunger-mongers throwing a myth in and out,
double-crossing out lives with doubt,
leaving us separate now, fogy with rage.

But then I've told my readers wh..."></div>
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