II won’t write about you.
It may be winter again, unsettled still
…A long way before she finally gives her prounciamento.
But this time I won’t write about you.


I am searching for a panacea..
I am sure I can find one…
As I walk the varicoloured streets
Spray painted stories,
yet formless, on broken walls.

There is still a life..
There are still smiles…
Levity, chords, and a few known songs.
They slowly land at my doorstep..
With the morning papers..
I read, and yet wait for the
End to my favourite story.