Blues for Giacomo
(After Leopardi)

So, my tired heart, it’s the golden handshake,
The big farewell. One deceit too many,
Yes, it’s over. Songsters may croon an ocean;
From now on out, stone not moonshine
Be our watchword. Twittering hopes all flown,
No more eternal this or that, period.
Enough of palpitations, no matter how dear
Or deluded the cause. Hush. You can despair
Your last. Fate’s sole gift for the likes
Of us is curtains. The world is mud,
A myriad sighs don’t shift a molehill,
Boredom and bitterness take all:
In other words, relax. Set no store
By yourself or nature, let its reign
Of ruin wreak its worst, heap vanity
Upon vanity ad infinitum...

Martin Bennett | Mudlark No. 12
Contents | Hothouse