(20 minute poetry)


Wednesday
burns away
into ash.

I remember
embers glowing
showing
me the way.

At some end
which
could be
Mile End on the
Central Line
I found the time
to reignite.

The nights end
at this end
and Mile End
is but a symptom.

I'm losing track yet
gaining speed and
think I'll crack,

but it's Wednesday
I have no need
of brakes
though the
buffeting takes
it out of
me

how cruel the winds
of change can be,
quite oddly
I appear to thrive.

Survival being the fittest
form
of life
I survive.

More cathedrals
crumble,
but in this sanctuary  
St. Barnabas
encourages me
to build upon
the ruins of what was
and what has gone.