The two poets I would have slept with just because they had brilliant minds are Anne Sexton and Paul Celan. Yes I know, deeply wounded people but amazing and there is something drastically different about wounded people verses screwed up people. I would say Sexton and Celan are like two sticks broken in half and well screwed up people are just, well screwed up. And hell that is not sexy.

But this:

Whichever stone you lift—
you lay bare
those you need the protection of stones:
naked,
now they renew their entwinement.

Whichever tree you fell—
you frame
the bedstand where
souls are stayed once again,
as if this aeon too
did not
tremble.

Whichever word you speak—
you owe to
destruction.

yep, that does it for me. Plus I am listening to the tape Anne Sexton Reads and I have to tell you, I adore her.