I write for no one;
I write for everyone.
My poems are here,
but not in place and time.
They live for me;
they are dead when I am gone.
The words will dissolve
in the caustic vat of time.
So why do I write these
words of mind and soul?
It is a compulsion;
It is an addict’s dreadful curse.
Or perhaps it is a way to
prove the determinists wrong.
31/7/2020