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Dream Song 123: Daples my floor the eastern sun my house faces north

 Dapples my floor the eastern sun, my house faces north,
I have nothing to say except that it dapples my floor
and it would dapple me
if I lay on that floor, as-well-forthwith
I have done, trying well to mount a thought
not carelessly

in times forgotten, except by the New York Times
which can't forget.
There is always the morgue.
There are men in the morgue.
These men have access.
Sleepless, in position, they dream the past forever Colossal in the dawn comes the second light we do all die, in the floor, in the morgue and we must die forever, c'est la mort a heady brilliance the ultimate gloire post-mach, probably in underwear as we met each other once.

by John Berryman
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