There is no point me being here
or anywhere
I'm a ticking time blank.
No explosives,
only whining, only moaning.
Ticking,
tocking,
mocking myself.
I am no good poet,
and no musician whatsoever.
I draw for fun
and sometimes read.
Hear the music in the street -
car engines and pelican crossings can't hear me,
They have no need for me.
Nothing does.
There's more where I came from.