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

Alec Solomita



My heart founders. Blue vessels
making their appointed rounds
as they have for half a hundred years
don't notice the fresh fissures
in their pumping center.

My sorrow grows, new woes
arrive daily, specters slip
into my thinning brain. Ancient
memories from dark air snap
open my eyes just as I begin
to fall into the early night.

In time, I drift down again for
exactly two and a half dreams
'till another regret swoops from
the bleak crescent moon and wakes me.