A poem for Wednesday

I've been thinking a lot about failing to give utterance to things that are the most important. I think this failure is necessary. Maybe one of the beauties is knowing you are trying to do something impossible. And though 28 is a good few years behind me, the haphazard coherence of Self-Portrait At 28 by David Berman really struck me. This is just wee excerpt, click here to read the whole thing. And buy David Berman's book here.

I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories,
many of them having blended with sentimental
telephone and margarine commercials
plainly ruined by Madison Avenue
though no one seems to call the advertising world
"Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved?
Let's get an update on this.

But first I have some business to take care of.

I walked out to the hill behind our house
which looks positively Alaskan today
and it would be easier to explain this
if I had a picture to show you
but I was with our young dog
and he was running through the tall grass
like running through the tall grass
is all of life together
until a bird calls or he finds a beer can
and that thing fills all the space in his head.

You see,
his mind can only hold one thought at a time
and when he finally hears me call his name
he looks up and cocks his head
and for a single moment
my voice is everything:

Self-portrait at 28.
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