sadness of the early evening

the sadness of the early evening
is a fallen leaf
of unfulfilled yearnings,
withered and perfect.

The weakened sun through my curtains
as I stare, glassy-eyed,
lost,
I feel for a life laid to waste
by schemes
in high places.

Tired, walking through the same motions
once again, trained and meek,
my legs have no strength to jump.

People in the mist, in those lands
where idle days are idle indeed.

Hot chocolate and chatter with
intelligent friends.

Simple is best,
but sometimes one needs to go away,
far away,
from it all and get well lost.

poor sod

This is not the time for the 
crossbows of grandiose speech, or
to offer a shirtless chest
to a future that demands no answers, 
deluded in our thinking that we are
at the cul-de-sac of history.

It is a time that warrants
the strength in you, 
sketched out on what's real inside.

Wake of the big wheel water,
each man in his own enclosure of unreachable
horizons.

Poor sod, the job of building heaven
is not meant for you.

desdichado

No es tiempo de ballestas
grandilocuentes,
ni de ofrecer el pecho descamisado
al futuro incuestionable,
pensando que estamos
en el fin de la historia.

Es tiempo de fortaleza pergeñada
en lo que hay de real en tí.

Derivas de agua de noria,
cada hombre encerrado
en su horizonte inalcanzable.

Desdichado, no es para tí
el trabajo de construir paraísos.

let me be

let me be shattered (blessed)
with a rare name that suggests
a obscure six-steps-removed European background.

A name that suggests the journey's not over yet.

I wish I hadn't been born
but rainfallen, or snowed into this world.
Or decanted, like a vintage wine.
Oh, a world begot by oaken gods with terroir!
That'd be something.
Evenings that last for years, drinking
in vernaculars forgotten long ago.

The everlasting fire requires a fluent translator,
well versed in several seas,
unfamiliar and inescapable in equal measures
- total awareness,
a sacred internal logic,
a simple dish that tastes better
when swept away.

And yet heavily terrified we will all depart
with an icy whimper,
like a stranger on a merciless night.

But no! stay defiant
against whatever versions of these bottomless outsiders you meet.
Remain master of your selves,
hose away those confessional attritions
in the athletic nights of insomnia.

Oh earthly minion thus (dis)placed,
you can be sure the singing
will be beautiful.