Winter trudge, cycle's promise, no words as well
but parliamentary speeches
then sirens, the coldness
of the jerseyless knocking,

It seems,
I've got no time for love.
No beauty riddles the chapped big smile,
I dont like this!

Treasures of byzantine, that scurrying in the hair
haven't I brushed these black walls?
Winter to cruel winter
and
this seepage in my blood
               Autumn's sloppy coffee

This skin touches glow
coaches stop and collect
I
Castaway to nowhere
Stand in God's drizzle,

Stopping is also paradox
I write, and the fingers crack

over tyre onslaught – gone

Sprawled on the lawn –  no words again
Strong vomit of blood, of formaldehyde –

Why?
I will always love you.
               And I am surprised?

(6th July 1993).