I am, each day, typing out the God my typewriter believes in. Very quick. Very intense, like a wolf at a live heart. - Anne Sexton

This November there seems to be nothing to say.

I refuse to remember the dead.
And the dead are bored with the whole thing.
But you - you go ahead,
go on, go back down,
into the graveyard,
lie down where you think their faces are;
talk back to your old bad dreams.

God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.