Henry’s Dream Song Inside The Richard Cory Poem

Her nightgown was fouled with his liquor,
like the country today,
shit-faced by the bumbling government.

He kissed her, caressed her,
manhandled her, spanked her,
put his hand on her playful struggle,

and the next day he confessed it all
in a poem that stuttered,
words became longer, time falling off of them,

the sentences were her hips,
the lyrics covered in snow outside,
dreams found their way like ants,

the trail interrupted only by man,
man interrupted only by himself.
He left home and put a bridge above his head.