I'm all dry of words and my insides feel pickled and I have all my assignments dinosauring their way towards me. If I could see myself in a series of visuals with the appropriate bleak light, I might be moved.
But here's a poem that makes weariness thin, every time. Dear, dear Raymond Carver.
And did you get what
you wanted from life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth