So it has
come to this
insomnia at
3:15 A.M.,
the clock
tolling its engine
like a frog
following
a sundial
yet having an electric
seizure at
the quarter hour.
The
business of words keeps me awake.
I am
drinking cocoa,
that warm
brown mama.
I would
like a simple life
yet all
night I am laying
poems away
in a long box.
It is my
immortality box,
my lay-away
plan,
my coffin.
Anne Sexton
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