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Sonnet 33

John Berryman

Audacities and fêtes of the drunken weeks!
One step false pitches all down... come and pour
Another... Strange, so warningless we four
Locked, crocked together, two of us made sneaks—
Who can't get at each other—midnight of freaks
On crepitant surfaces, a kiss blind from the door...
One head suspects, drooping and vaguely sore,
Something entirely sad, skew, she not seeks...

'You'll give me ulcers if all this keeps up'
You moaned...   One only, ignorant and kind,
Save his own life useful and usual,
Blind to the witch-antinomy I sup
Spinning between the laws on the black edge, blind
Head—O do I?—I dance to disannul.

Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 18 Sep 2018 2:00 PM | Viewed: 3474 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9217/ | Viewed on 18 September 2018.
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