Improv week 4

"Dream Song 29"

John Berryman

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart
so heavy, if he had a hundred years
& more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time
Henry could not make good.
Starts again always in Henry's ears
the little cough somewhere, an odour, a chime.

And there is another thing he has in mind
like a grave Sienese face a thousand years
would fail to blur the still profiled reproach of. Ghastly,
with open eyes, he attends, blind.
All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears;
thinking.

But never did Henry, as he thought he did,
end anyone and hacks her body up
and hide the pieces, where they may be found.
He knows: he went over everyone, & nobody's missing.
Often he reckons, in the dawn, them up.
Nobody is ever missing.

--------------------------------------------------------------

There lay down, once, a procedure in my mind
so molten, that if I had more time
& longer, & faster, awake, from all that year
I cannot install these ideas.
Beginning again perpetually in my ears
a tiny dream somewhere, a version, a token.

And this other thing in my mind
like a swollen, lifeless mass that
ceases to launch this incredible sleepless panic. Gleefully,
with open arms, I consider, unbridled.
All the broken things say: so long. This is not for you;
blinking.

But never did I, as I once thought,
act upon any thing and hunts down that very thing
hiding the various segments, where I can finally be discovered.
I know: I saw the document, & it is not gone.
Often I have calculated, in the long mornings, that too.
No thing is ever truly gone.