Sunset In Panajachel Poem by David Kowalczyk

Approaching night, the plaza
dances with flickering lights,
with the death of day.
On a bench of crumbling stone,
I savor ever morsel of my roast goat
and rice. I relish my liter of Cabro beer
as though it were Dom Perignon.
I scribble notes in my journal,
ancient and stained. I vow to read ten pages
every day from The Magic Mountain, Naked Lunch,
and Gravity's Rainbow. And to write.
Every day. To write.
Returning to the Inn of the Five Graces,
I have a sudden and sad realization.

I imagine things
I really don't believe.
Would that I could
believe in things
I can't even imagine.