on being "transient"

having brushed (fleetingly) the southern of our islands

and ascending northwards again

I wonder if we've in fact been here...

these hills framing the tarmac

feel a part of myself, a

"home"

of sorts, though 

I wonder if I've been here...

those gothic buildings

and the bogan lovers,

the girls braving the Friday night cold

I wonder if I've been here ?

that nowhere-grey void, levitating us 

over bumpy air (like the skin of a tuatara)

suggests I've "been" but been 

absent --

not been, have been

seen but unseen

familiar but scarcely known

that old Scottish town where race

has always been hot topic

filler

where have all those words gone?

     leeched, leaked

  into the cracks

     trying to fill the 

           gaps in my foot

   where no weight will be taken,

 clogged up with calcium 

    "don't step on the cracks"

Well -- I can't help it:

   the crack's in me.

 I take it around,

   my pet crack,

   for small walks 

              and at the end of meander

I'm all out of breath,

      all out of words.