In a state of chortle sin—once he reflected, <br />swilling tomato juice—live I, and did <br />more than my thirstier years. <br />To Hell then will it maul me? for good talk, <br />and gripe of retail loss? I dare say not. <br />I don't thínk there's that place <br /> <br />save sullen here, wherefrom she flies tonight <br />retrieving her whole body, which I need. <br />I recall a 'coon treed, <br />flashlights, & barks, and I was in that tree, <br />and something can (has) been said for sobriety <br />but very little. <br /> <br />The guns. Ah, darling, it was late for me, <br />midnight, at seven. How in famished youth <br />could I forsee Henry's sweet seed <br />unspent across so flying barren ground, <br />where would my loves dislimn whose dogs abound? <br />I fell out of the tree.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-57-in-a-state-of-chortle-sin-once-he/
