Shh! on a twine hung from disastered trees <br />Henry is swinging his daughter. They seem drunk. <br />Over across them look out, <br />tranquil, the high statues of the wise. <br />Her feet peep, like a lady's in sleep sunk. <br />That which this scene's about— <br /> <br />he pushes violent, his calves distend, <br />his mouth is open with effort, so is hers, <br />in the Supreme Court garden, <br />the justices lean, negro, out, the trees bend, <br />man's try began too long ago, with chirrs <br />& leapings, begging pardon— <br /> <br />I will deny the gods of the garden say. <br />Henry's perhaps to break his burnt-cork luck. <br />I further will deny <br />good got us up that broad shoreline. Greed may <br />like a fuse, but with the high shore we is stuck, <br />whom they overlook. Why,—<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-72-the-elder-presences/
