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Again and Again and Again

 You said the anger would come back 
just as the love did.
I have a black look I do not like.
It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old.
It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.
There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot.
I have sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it and I have placed you and your child at its milk tip.
Oh the blackness is murderous and the milk tip is brimming and each machine is working and I will kiss you when I cut up one dozen new men and you will die somewhat, again and again.

Poem by Anne Sexton
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