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A stationary sense... as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
         Inaccurate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful -
            Some say, desired.

And this must be the prime of life... I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
           This pantomime
Of compensating act and counter-act
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact
            My ablest time.

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 23 Nov 2008 11:04 AM | Viewed: 6070 times

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