Deprived of his enemy, shrugged to a standstill <br />horrible Henry, foaming. Fan their way <br />toward him who will <br />in the high wood: the officers, their rest, <br />with p. a. echoing: his girl comes, say, <br />conned in to test <br /> <br />if he's still human, see, <br />therefore she get on the Sheriff's mike & howl <br />'Come down, come down'. <br />Therefore he un-budge, furious. He'd flee <br />but only Heaven hangs over him foul. <br />At the crossways, downtown, <br /> <br />he dreams the folks are buying parsnips & suds <br />and paying rent to foes. He slipt & fell. <br />It's golden here in the snow. <br />A mild crack: a far rifle. Bogart's duds <br />truck back to Wardrobe. Fancy the brain from hell <br />held out so long. Let go.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-9-deprived-of-his-enemy-shrugged-to-a/
