Dream Song 111: I miss him. When I get back to camp

 I miss him.
 When I get back to camp
I'll dig him up.
 Well, he can prop & watch,
can't he, pink or blue,
and I will talk to him.
 I miss him.
 Slams,
grand or any, aren't for the tundra much.

One face-card will do.


It's marvellous how four sit down—beyond
my thought how many tables sometimes are 
in forgotten clubs
across & down the world.
 Your fever conned
us, pal.
 Will it work out, my solitaire?
The blubber's safe in the tubs,

the dogs are still, & all's well .
 .
 .
 nine long times
I loosed & buried.
 Then I shot him dead.

I don't remember why.

The Captain of the supply ship, playing for dimes, 
thinks I killed him.
 The black cards are red
and where's the others? I—

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...