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Dream Song 51: Our wounds to time, from all the other times

Dream Song 51: Our wounds to time, from all the other times

Our wounds to time, from all the other times,
Sea-times slow, the times of galaxies
Fleeing, the dwarfs’ dead times,
Lessen so little that if here in his crude rimes
Henry them mentions, do not hold it, please,
For a putting of man down.

Ol’ Marster, being bound you do your best
Versus we coons, spare now a cagey John
A whilom bits that whip:
Who’ll tell your fortune, when you have confessed
Whose & whose woundings—against the innocent stars
& remorseless seas—

€”Are you radioactive, pal? —Pal, radioactive.
€”Has you the night sweats & the day sweats, pal?
€”Pal, I do.
€”Did your gal leave you? —What do you think, pal?
€”Is that thing on the front of your head what it seems to be, pal?
€”Yes, pal.



Poem Dream Song 51: Our wounds to time, from all the other times - John Berryman