Three Dream Songs

Ⅰ

In a state of chortal sin—once he reflected, 
swilling tomato juice—live I, and did 
more than my thirsty years. 
To Hell then will it haul me? for good talk 
& gripe of retail loss? I dare say not. 
I don't think there's that place 

save somewhat here! where from she flies tonight 
retrieving her whole body, which I need. 
I recall a coon treed, 
flashlights, & barks, and I was in that tree, 
and something can (has) been said for sobriety 
but very little. 

The guns. Ah, darling, it was late for me, 
midnight, at seven.  (How in famished youth 
could I foresee Henry's sweet seed 
unspent across so flying barren ground, 
where would my loves dislimn whose dogs abound?) 
I fell out of the tree.