I am nobody.

I walk the hall of many places

the streets of blooming and barren cities

and the molding of rooms full and empty

is my footpath.

These are not new haunts, or lurks, for me;

I have sat in the shadows of giants,

nursed at the teet of revolutions,

And spoken into the ear of power there

from my beige on beige perches and portals.

Those who possess kind words leave only

sheer slugs trails of personal expression and experience

My near invisibility intact when I, seated, am near

when the exchange of profession and proclamations

of projects produced are rung out.

My history, footprints, leave no trace there

and there is no reminders as to where I have tread.