May 11, 1998 (I was 53)
Thirty-one years ago on this night
about this time I became a father
twice and too dumb to be fearful
and too ignorant to have remembered
much of how it felt or what it meant,
and in the intervening years
too smart to think I could figure it out.
Too indifferent now to philosophy
to believe we ever arrive at truth
too numb to days to hope they add up
as they subtract
Too blind at night to see how we divide
as we multiply.
And certain it is better to be lost in now
than found at some future date;
better to be lost in now
than remembered as part of something gone.
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