João do Infinito AFTER-RAIN MUSING

Life is perhaps too real at times
and writting perhaps too false
to be effective in the long term
as you get bored of your ways in the world
and of the days and nights that never change

and if you deprive your feelings
of long accustomed to fancy and ornament
they are so bare and so ruthless
that you, average man, seem a monster
under the light of ultimate sincerity

when the life sorrounding you
is but some sort of distant remembrance
and the course of it would appear to your senses
as an ordinary novel you keep reading
rather stubbornly than out of inspiration

and when the music is over at last
there isn't anything even to cry for...
dark brownish clouds linger on the sky
and lamp posts gaze listlessly
at the passage of time through damp empty streets
where rain has poured and formed puddles