“Berryman leapt to his death from a bridge in Minneapolis”—Dacey and Jauss, Strong Measures
“He jumped from a height of a hundred feet”—Cody Walker, Kenyon Review Blog
“He died by throwing himself off a bridge.”—poets.org, Academy of American Poets
Dog tired, suisired, a thing so heavy–
I doubt leapt, jumped, throw les mots juste
for his worn doing. Perhaps viscosity
should be there someplace, a thick, slow ooze
face first over and done. We can’t hock
the clock that loses an era a day, wag;
the molted cuckoo’s throttled to a clunk.
No more tricks up our sleeve (or trouser leg).
The slogging tome won’t end, organically.
The plot goes cold. The protagonist is Winter.
“Goo-Goo” “Woo-Who” “Make Do” “Déjà Vu” –
the chapters went along swimmingly
until we hit that turgid “Déjà Vu” denouement delaying the final chapter.
The dread we’d be assigned a Vol. II.