He published his girl's bottom in staid pages <br />of an old weekly. Where will next his rages <br />ridiculous Henry land? <br />Tranquil & chaste, de-hammocked, he descended— <br />upon which note the fable should have ended— <br />towards the ground, and <br /> <br />while fable wound itself upon him thick <br />and coats upon his tongue formed, white, terrific: <br />he stretched out still. <br />Assembled bands to do obsequious music <br />at hopeless noon. He bayed before he obeyed, <br />doing at last their will. <br /> <br />This seemed perhaps one of the best of dogs <br />during his barking. Many thronged & lapped <br />at his delicious stone. <br />Cats to a distance kept—one of their own— <br />having in mind that down he lay & napped <br />in the realm of whiskers & fogs.<br /><br />John Berryman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-song-122-he-published-his-girl-s-bottom-in/
