​On the streets,
​I am concerned by
aspirations of
failure and decay.
Like being wheeled
into a coffin.
It is almost a rule.
‘No, no!’. I say.
​This is not the way.
​So, I fetch out
​one more word,
​one more poem.
​To loose the years.
​Then my life, my work
​knows no time or place.
​And grows again
​beneath my feet.