Life Sentence Poem by Marcel Aouizerate

I smoked the long cigarette as I was touring the ruins,
those weren't the derelict houses of our past;
there, we still reckon the word lives online, it is
believed but not read; I was walking fast through
empty lots of language, littered lots really, yet
nowhere to dispose of sense, my time of ease
was drawing to a close, with the time and
space left, I though of calling you for the nth time
and I considered this predicament, when men
carry meaning walking on sentences, while
I ponder with whom such should be shared

To last.