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I am not lazy.

I am on the amphetamine of the soul.

I am, each day,

typing out the God

my typewriter believes in.

Very quick. Very intense,

like a wolf at a live heart.

Not lazy.

When a lazy man, they say,

looks toward heaven,

the angels close the windows.

 

Oh angels,

keep the windows open

so that I may reach in

and steal each object,

objects that tell me the sea is not dying,

objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,

that the Christ who walked for me,

walked on true ground

and that this frenzy,

like bees stinging the heart all morning,

will keep the angels

with their windows open,

wide as an English bathtub.

 

 

Anne Sexton, Frenzy

 

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