The ars poetica
The poetry of it
I walk on measured
Tones of poetry
Of nothing
Out of pavements
Of stark loneliness
A man in grey coat shouts
By the pavement
He is a poet expressing
His ephipany of freedom
No one says anything
No one looks at him
No one smiles
No one calls him mad
Somehow his madness lingers
On me
I reach home half drunk.
