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93
New Times
Today rain isn’t falling
but slowly slipping
like across a windshield
of a car.
It’s dusk
though the clock doesn’t show it.
It’s clear there’s no solution,
that victory isn’t possible.
Though we play
to the end.
We’re jobbing with colored
beads
and swilling beer
until we fall.
Then we fall
all fragile, helpless,
without wings
and without even knowing
whether at the end
we’ll be able to land on our feet
or react with dignity
to a whole list
of impatient temptations