My mother has your shotgun. One man, wide
in the mind, and tendoned like a grizzly, pried
to his trigger-digit, pal.
He should not have done that, but, I guess,
he didn’t feel the best, Sister,â?”felt less
and more about less than us . . . ?
Nowâ?”tell me, my love, if you recall
the dove light after dawn at the island and allâ?”
here is the story, Jack:
he verbed for forty years, very enough,
& shot & bucktâ?”and, baby, there was of
schist but small there (some).
Why should I tell a truth? when in the crack
of the dooming & emptying news I did hold backâ?”
in the taxi too, sickâ?”
silentâ?”it’s so I broke down here, in his mind
whose sire as mine one same wayâ?”I refuse,
hoping the guy go home.
(John Berryman)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Mind Poems, Hope Poems, Home Poems, Truth Poems, Babies PoemsBased on Keywords: broke, recall, refuse, didn, sire, dawn, crack, news, story, guess, mother