shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Ann Keith


Torpor, Solitude and Marble

What of the torpor of the half-alive,
Still dimly thirsting to intensify
Their weak sensations? Whence shall they derive
The strength they crave? And what if they apply
Strange means and desperate, hoping to contrive
To break their marble apathy thereby?
And pain is one of these. By pain we rise
From earth at least to curse and utter cries.
Rather than let my heart and senses grow
In somnolence as numb as stone within,
I must forsake these silences and go
Among the dwellings and abodes of men –
From solitude to solitude, I know –
Yet crave I crowds in motion, lights and din.
But where am I to flee on feet like these?
The marble now has reached above the knees.