My fingers have eroded
The iron bars
Of my window
Overlooking the street

The wine glass has broken
Because there is no wine

The roof leaks,
The clock needs rewinding,
The house needs whitewashing,
But who needs the house?
I’m living at the corner of my street.

I don’t wish to remove the cobwebs
That entangle my eyes,
Still

The candle is burning,
Yet surprisingly
The wax refuses to melt.