We always will wonder about the purpose of street photography
Is it pressing the panic button to stop the flow of time ?
The basic instinct to stack fantasy visions in an orderly disorder
Like a butterfly collector pins beautiful memories in a box for scientific lust
For the days will come when dementia or death or both will erase all
The next generations will plunder the trove, haggle, dissect and disperse
The jumble of memories that once were you, will be possessed by others
This is the price to pay for posterity