Listen to poem:
Staring Into Distance
He stares
into the distance of the days,
of those gone and of those yet to come --
he touches no one,
is touched by no one.
Yet noisy commerce
around him flows, constant movement;
but movement without a change of place,
no progress forward, no backward retreat --
an illusion of movement, only.
He sees youths --
with no sense of self --
and leathery crones,
unhygienic vagrants,
no place to go,
assailed by noises --
a repetitious assault
upon the ear and air.
Still he sits,
in frozen semi-trance,
staring always inward,
but also into distance,
sentient and inert.
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