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John Berryman - Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7

Plop, plop. The lobster toppled in the pot,
fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny,
glowing fire-red,
succulent, and on the whole becoming what
man wants. I crack my final claw singly,
wind up the grave, & to bed.

—Sound good, Mr Bones. I wish I had me some.
(I spose you got a lessen up your slave.)
—O no no no.
Sole I remember; where no lobster swine,—
pots hot or cold is none. With you I grieve
lightly, and I have no lesson.

Bodies are relishy, they say. Here's mine,
was. What ever happened to Political Economy,
leaving me here?
Is a rare—in my opinion—responsibility.
The military establishments perpetuate themselves forever.
Have a bite, for a sign.

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Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1557 times | Comments and analysis of Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7 by John Berryman Comments (0)

Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7 - Comments and Information

Poet: John Berryman
Poem: 84. Dream Song 84: Op. posth. no. 7
Volume: His Toy, His Dream, His Rest
Year: Published/Written in 1968
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