Without gazing further
than the next shop-window
walking down the street
along the boulevard that is life
Sobbing in restrooms
of cities without names
picking garments on sale
along the boulevards that are life
Hanging paper over holes
in the walls and
pounding on a nail for the hostage
driver of a hijacked bus
and the zebra crossings
are black and black only
and deep
between the boulevards that are life
No Instructions.
Only a Discovery of Truth.
No trying.
No I.