The Russian grin bellows his condolence <br />tó the family: ah but it's Kay, <br />& Ted, & Chris & Anne, <br />Henry thinks of: who eased his fearful way <br />from here, in here, to there. This wants thought. <br />I won't make it out. <br /> <br />Maybe the source of noble such may come <br />clearer to dazzled Henry. It may come. <br />I'd say it will come with pain, <br />in mystery. I'd rather leave it alone. <br />I do leave it alone. <br />And down with the listener. <br /> <br />Now he has become, abrupt, an industry. <br />Professional-Friends-Of-Robert-Frost all over <br />gap wide their mouths <br />while the quirky medium of so many truths <br />is quiet. Let's be quiet. Let us listen: <br />—What for, Mr Bones? <br /> —while he begins to have it out with Horace.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-38-the-russian-grin-bellows-his-condo/
