by Josh Seigal

The stars fall from the sky at night.

Gérard walks the streets.

He hears no one’s name in God’s

cascade of judgment;

he measures his progress

by joining up the dustbins.

I once saw him pick up a

cup of coffee and drain

it on a street corner.

The trees extend their skeleton limbs,

as Gérard walks the streets.

Someone once loved him but

no one can remember her name.

He finds joy in the contours

of the faces of passing strangers.

He sits at the world’s breakfast

table each morning.

The sun paints its pastel

smudge across night’s canvas,

as Gérard walks the streets.

.hmmessage P { margin:0px; padding:0px } body.hmmessage { FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY:Tahoma } Josh Seigal studies philosophy at Univeristy College London.

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