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More poems by John BerrymanJohn Berryman | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by John BerrymanBooks by John Berryman

Dream Song 89: Op. posth. no. 12

John Berryman

In a blue series towards his sleepy eyes
they slid like wonder, women tall & small,
of every shape & size,
in many languages to lisp 'We do'
to Henry almost waking. What is the night at all,
his closed eyes beckon you.

In the Marriage of the Dead, a new routine,
he gasped his crowded vows past lids shut tight
and a-many rings fumbled on.
His coffin like Grand Central to the brim
filled up & emptied with the lapse of light.
Which one will waken him?

O she must startle like a fallen gown,
content with speech like an old sacrament
in deaf ears lying down,
blazing through darkness till he feels the cold
& blindness of his hopeless tenement
while his black arms unfold.

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 18 Jul 2018 10:25 AM | Viewed: 3070 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3680/ | Viewed on 18 July 2018.
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