John Berryman Poems

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When I saw my friend covered with blood, I thought
This is the end of the dream, now I'll wake up.
That was more years ago
than I care to reckon, and my friend is not
dying but adhering to an élite group
in California O.

Why did I never wake, when covered with blood
I saw my fearful friend, his nerves are bad
with the large strain of moving,
I see his motions, stretcht on his own rack,
our book is coming out in paperback,
Henry has not ceased loving

but wishes all that blood would flow away
leaving his friend crisp, ready for all
in the new world O.
I see him brace, and on that note I pray
the blood recede like an old folderol
and he spring up & go.

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