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Dream Song 34: My mother has your shotgun. One man, wide

Dream Song 34: My mother has your shotgun. One man, wide

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, —felt less
And more about less than us. . . ?

Now—tell me, my love, if you recall
The dove light after dawn at the island and all—
Here is the story, Jack:
He verbed for forty years, very enough,
& shot & buckt—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 back—
In the taxi too, sick—
Silent—it’s so I broke down here, in his mind
Whose sire as mine one same way—I refuse,
Hoping the guy go home.



Poem Dream Song 34: My mother has your shotgun. One man, wide - John Berryman