Malaise

Michele Witthaus

We don’t have a name

for this new ennui:

tiresome and terrifying

in equal measure.

These days, life is filtered

as if through muslin,

pureed and refined.

Like children or invalids,

we obediently consume

what’s in front of us.

Caught between

horrified fascination

and self-preserving denial,

we retreat to numbness,

which brings respite

from the rigours

of perpetual

astonishment.