The Dream Songs

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by John Berryman

8

The weather was fine. They took away his teeth,
white & helpful; bothered his backhand;
halved his green hair.
They blew out his loves, his interests. 'Underneath,'
(they called in iron voices) 'understand,
is nothing. So there.'

The weather was very fine. They lifted off
his covers til he showed, and cringed & pled
to see himself less.
They installed mirrors till he flowed. 'Enough'
(murmured they) 'if you will watch Us instead,
yet you may saved be. Yes.'

The weather fleured. They weakend all his eyes,
burning thumbs into his ears, and shook
his hand like a notch.
They flung long silence speeches. (Off the hook!)
They sandpapered his plumpest hope. (So capsize.)
They took away his crotch.