Against John Berryman by Mark Kerstetter


The pressure in my head is threatening
this morning. An endless fucking sea of words.
And the words are fucking.

each other.

Dip into the sea:
Henry is not smiling. Henry does not feel well.
Moreover, Henry feels that he is not well.
This is what I think, and I have Big Eyes.
Henry gave me permission to use his name.
This is not plagiarism.
A mind has been fucked.

by another mind.

It occurred to me that this was a pleasant thought.
That I suppose was the orgasm.
Short lived:


1 comment:

Cathy Webster (Olliffe) said...

The rhythm of your words is mindful of the piece read by Berryman. The same startling harshness. The beat of breath. The pointed fingers.


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