Languor (redux)

His word, his breath,
Are merely synecdoche —
Ephemeral.

Nothing is true in the true
Sense of the word.

He drifts on the Lethe,
Intoxicated by water that transforms —
A trip into languor —
And never sets foot on the other shore.

What I’m Reading:

“The syndrome known as life is too diffuse to admit of palliation. For every symptom that is eased, another is made worse.”

— Samuel Beckett / Murphy