The more I sit

The more I sit

The more I resemble

A busted Buddha

Motionless and inscrutable

Everything around me

Is in repetition

Moving rapidly

It feels like I

Practised invisibility with

The angels

A sad old crow sits alongside

He has time to spare

Before his next gig

As a sideman

In a down-at-the-heels blues band

Waiting for a break in the market

For another Charlie Bird.

We watch as the sun sets lower

Than the top of a dirty city

The jagged edges blur

Before light scatters

In an arrogant display

Of self-aggrandisement.

Lately, it has become

Harder to distinguish

Anything of significance

Other than broken paving stones

With tough old weeds forcing their way

Out through the cracks.

On occasions

When the wind is in the right direction

We nod along together.

Me, the dandelions and the crow

Humming the same tune

Smiling at passing strangers.

Not too widely

Otherwise they come

To take you away.