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.
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.