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Dream Song 33: An apple arc'd toward Kleitos; whose great King

John Berryman

An apple arc'd toward Kleitos; whose great King
wroth & of wine did study where his sword,
sneaked away, might be . . .
with swollen lids staggered up and clung
dim to the cloth of gold. An un-Greek word
blister, to him guard,

and the trumpeter would not sound, fisted. Ha,
they hustle Clitus out; by another door,
loaded, crowds he back in
who now must, chopped, fall to the spear-ax ah
grabbed from an extra by the boy-god, sore
for weapons. For the sin:

little it is gross Henry has to say.
The King heaved. Pluckt out, the ax-end would
he jab in his sole throat.
As if an end. A baby, the guard may
squire him to his apartments. Weeping & blood
wound round his one friend.

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 19 Jul 2018 11:17 PM | Viewed: 4298 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3624/ | Viewed on 19 July 2018.
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