“The Wound Talks to You”: The Nightmares of John Berryman

Ah yes, Berryman. Here's my old favorite of his:

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.<br> After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored means you have no

Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored. Peoples bore me, literature bores me, especially great literature, Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me. And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag and somehow a dog has taken itself & its tail considerably away into mountains or sea or sky, leaving behind: me, wag.

I hadn't finished reading the first half-sentence when the screen goes black and a message pops up "You've read 1 of your 3 free articles..."

YOU are the wound, pointmag ... and I won't be subscribing.