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Untraceable

Maybe, it excites me to know that no one knows where I’ve trodden.

Even the Aristocrat’s limestone griddles I drip between

Can’t catch me winding round their alleys,

As they sweat with the insurgence of poverty

The homeless laying open-mouthed in the acid rain.


And even they didn’t spot me,

Between the blending of their bones to the ivory.

These desaturates slow-bake in tort light - so sore on the modest eye.

Red-handed claps, won’t beat for the

X-Ray puppet-show of shadows.

And what a shame everyone missed it.

But, more... that they don’t.


Dust.

We all burn to a cinder here,

In some way.

Even the pocket-heavy suffer this form of decay.

I do too... but I think I like it.

Because no one knows which slab my toe has licked

As I marvel at the artisan and the beggar’s beige sick.


I’m invincibly invisible here -

Only one watching is CCTV.

And even that’s got no intention of catching me.

As I have no voice, face or presence.

Each time I return, I retreat in depression.

But that’s freedom too - as I am nothing here.

Nothing to you.

Nothing and no where.

And, neither are you.

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