John Berryman

By | 1 September 2024

You,
passed over
by acquittal
and absolution
of time,
everything listing
but this:
the sublime articulation
of your longing.

With little or no
chance of happiness,
you sing,
heart a severed wing
or strangled
underling.

You are always drunk
on despair as pure
as night.
You walk in air,
fall through
daylight.

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