The high ones die, die. They die. You look up and who’s there?
â?”Easy, easy, Mr Bones. I is on your side.
I smell your grief.
â?”I sent my grief away. I cannot care
forever. With them all align & again I died
and cried, and I have to live.
â?”Now there you exaggerate, Sah. We hafta die.
That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.
â?”Yes; that makes sense.
But what makes sense between, then? What if I
roiling & babbling & braining, brood on why and
just sat on the fence?
â?”I doubts you did or do. De choice is lost.
â?”It’s fool’s gold. But I go in for that.
The boy & the bear
looked at each other. Man all is tossed
& lost with groin-wounds by the grand bulls, cat.
William Falukner’s where?
(Frost being still around.)
(John Berryman)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Cry Poems, Gold Poems, Grief Poems, Cats PoemsBased on Keywords: task, pointed, forever, frost, easy, who, smell, grand, ones, choice, bones