Dream Song 85: Op. posth. no. 8 by John Berryman
Flak. An eventful thought came to me, who squirm in my hole. How will the matter end? Who's king these nights? What happened to . . . day? Are ships abroad? I would like to but may not entertain a friend. Save me from ghastly frights,
Triune! My wood or word seems to be rotting. I daresay I'm collapsing. Worms are at hand. No, all that froze, I mean the blood. 'O get up & go in' somewhere once I heard. Nowadays I doze. It's cold here.
The cold is ultimating. The cold is cold. I am—I should be held together by— but I am breaking up and Henry now has come to a full stop— vanisht his vision, if there was, & fold him over himself quietly.
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