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Sonnet 37

John Berryman

Sigh as it ends... I keep an eye on your
Amour with Scotch,—too cher to consummate;
Faster your disappearing beer than late-
ly mine; your naked passion for the floor;
Your hollow leg; your hanker for one more
Dark as the Sundam Trench; how you dilate
Upon psychotics of this class, collate
Stages, and... how long since you, well, forbore.

Ah, but the high fire sings on to be fed
Whipping our darkness by the lifting sea
A while, O darling drinking like a clock.
The tide comes on: spare, Time, from what you spread
Her story,—tilting a frozen Daiquiri,
Blonde, barefoot, beautiful,
     flat on the bare floor rivetted to Bach.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 20 Jul 2018 6:44 AM | Viewed: 3730 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9221/ | Viewed on 20 July 2018.
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