He loom' so cagey he say 'Leema beans' <br />and measured his intake to the atmosphere <br />of that fairly stable country. <br />His ear hurt. Left. The rock-cliffs, a mite sheer <br />at his age, in these places. <br />Scrubbing out his fear,— <br /> <br />the knowledge that they will take off your hands, <br />both hands; as well as your both feet, & likewise <br />both eyes, <br />might be discouraging to a bloddy hero <br />Also you stifle, like you can't draw breath. <br />But this is death— <br /> <br />which in some vain strive many to avoid, <br />many. It's on its way, where you drop at <br />who stood up, scrunch down small. <br />It wasn't so much after all to lose, was, Boyd? <br />A body.—But, Mr Bones, you needed that. <br />Now I put on my tall hat.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-81-op-posth-no-4/
