Epiphany Has Finished

LEMONIA PERFORCE => ATHENS, CITY UNKNOWN
   
ATHENS
SUNDAY MORNING
7/1/2018

EPIPHANY HAS FINISHED

I didn't go out tonight as I've planned,
it is Saturday night after all,
with empty eyes the strait long way I scanned,
I did not like going out at all.

I thought, "it's bound to make me feel like shit,
me having some good fun, getting my kicks,
but poverty and trouble I shall meet,
in every corner, no, my scheming stinks."

It's desperate when facing real despair,
to try to enjoy what you can,
pretending you don't see, you don't compare,
how you fare with how this world is run.

Not that I am one without my griefs,
but luxury of thought is with me still,
so, fuck all metaphysical beliefs,
this pavement is wild, this wind has chill.

So, fuck all lofty poetry and prose,
if it is not about material world,
I think I'll go back in to have a doze,
but better to stay out, to curse and scold.

*****
I buy a coffee and a croissant,
I go out of the shop to have a smoke,
I watch a woman, vacant as I stand,
she's much worse off, she looks completely broke.

The radio in the shop carries on playing,
the same fucking tune for forty days,
they wish us "Merry Christmas", it keeps saying,
"Happy New Year" and all that stuff conveys.

That woman in the cold begs for some aid,
she's selling handkerchiefs, she so survives,
I buy a packet, saying, "don’t be afraid,
a global revolution soon arrives!"

She shakes her head, she mutters, "so what?
I am beyond all that my good old boy,
no family, no friends, no dog, no cat,
it’s not for me this world, neither its joy."

Invented by Pagans for true light,
converted by Christians for their need,
endorsed by its philosophers, alright!
Exploited by merchants for their greed,

we end again this time-honoured farce,
that woman said, she's sure, she won't survive,
her Christmas was a pain in the arse,
she's glad it's past, leaving her still alive.

*****
Epiphany has finished, St. John's dawns,
St. John the Baptist's, or the Transvestite's,
St. John the Serial Killer's, or the Blown's,
any fucking St. John's your lust invites.

By beggars are the whores replaced now,
this road does look different with them,
I should go home, but I don’t know just how,
this pile of shit called Athens, what a gem!

I leave it to the anarchists to sort,
anarchy looks attractive after this,
let it give birth, or let it to abort,
but let give you its confusing kiss.

It's not a Judas' kiss, it doesn’t betray,
it heals you or it kills you, as it fits,
look at your dreams in endless disarray,
fading away for all of us, dim wits.