Surveillance
I lie awake at night
the ghost-of-myself paces the city
gets on and off buses
hurries through turnstiles
pauses to look in shop windows
gives a beggar a coin
just stands in the street for no reason
raises suspicion from passers-by
hurries ahead again
enters the Underground, boards a train,
sits staring at the ads opposite
gets up, gets off, exits the station,
goes into Pret, buys a coffee,
finds it too hot, forgets to drink it,
dumps it in a bin
the ghost-of-myself leaves a trace
across the city streets, slick with light,
like a snail’s silver-slime-trail
inscribing the hieroglyphs
of my personal psychogeography
that no one reads, not even me,
my eyes have looked but not seen
my mind has thought and then forgotten
but the cameras see everything,
remember everything, sift the evidence.