Dream Song 384

His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1969)

The marker slants, flowerless, day’s almost done,I stand above my father’s grave with rage,often, often beforeI’ve made this awful pilgrimage to onewho cannot visit me, who tore his pageout: I come back for more,

I spit upon this dreadful banker’s gravewho shot his heart out in a Florida dawnO ho alas alasWhen will indifference come, I moan & raveI’d like to scrabble till I got right downAway down under the grass

and ax the casket open ha to seejust how he’s taking it, which he sought so hardwe’ll tear apartthe mouldering grave clothes ha & then Henrywill heft the ax once more, his final card,and fell it on the heart.

His Toy, His Dream, His Rest (1969)