As I go to sleep, overtired, overworked...
Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2009 5:49 am
...I leave you with one of my favorite poems.
Sonnet XVIII
Dear Marge, hello. It is 5:15 a.m.
Outside my room atonal sounds of rain
In my head. Dreams of Larry Walker
Drum in the pre-dawn. In my skull my brain
Season, cold images glitter brightly
In his marriage bed: of David Bearden
Answering. "Deteriorating," you said.
Say it. And made it hard to write. You know
Margie, tonight, and every night, in any
Aches in rhythm to that pounding morning rain.
Them over and over. And now I dread
Not a question, really, but you did
In your letter, many questions. I read
Paranoid: and of Martin Cochran, dead.
--Ted Berrigan
Sonnet XVIII
Dear Marge, hello. It is 5:15 a.m.
Outside my room atonal sounds of rain
In my head. Dreams of Larry Walker
Drum in the pre-dawn. In my skull my brain
Season, cold images glitter brightly
In his marriage bed: of David Bearden
Answering. "Deteriorating," you said.
Say it. And made it hard to write. You know
Margie, tonight, and every night, in any
Aches in rhythm to that pounding morning rain.
Them over and over. And now I dread
Not a question, really, but you did
In your letter, many questions. I read
Paranoid: and of Martin Cochran, dead.
--Ted Berrigan