Dream Song 88: Op. posth. no. 11 (John Berryman Poems)
In slack times visit I the violent deadand pick their awful brains. Most seem to feelnothing is secret moreto my ...
In slack times visit I the violent deadand pick their awful brains. Most seem to feelnothing is secret moreto my ...
In slack times visit I the violent dead and pick their awful brains. Most seem to feel nothing is secret ...
Like a reminder of this life of trams, sun, sparrows, and the flighty uncontrolledness of streams leaping like thermometers, and ...
BENEATH the flat and paper sky The sun, a demon's eye, Glowed through the air, that mask of glass; All ...
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