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Sonnet 17

John Berryman

The Old Boys' blazers like a Mardi-Gras
Burn orange, border black, their dominoes
Stagger the green day down the tulip rows
Of the holiday town. Ever I passioned, ah
Ten years, to go where by her golden bra
Some sultry girl is caught, to dip my nose
Or dance where jorums clash and King Rex' hose
Slip as he rules the tantrum's orchestra,
Liriodendron, and the Mystick Krewe!
Those images of Mardi-Gras' sweet weather
Beckoned—but how has their invitation ceased?
...The bells brawl, calling (I cannot find you
With me there) back us who were not together.
Our forward Lent set in before our feast.

Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 20 Oct 2018 8:25 PM | Viewed: 3145 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9199/ | Viewed on 20 October 2018.
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