I prefer anonymity:

To stare through a glass darkly

Knowing that the face

On the other side

won’t call back at me

As I slip into  

the buzzing crowds of 

A London tube station;

just another black figure 

in a Lowry painting

Because beyond 

the limitations of a name, 

‘heirloom’ is no longer 

the heir that looms

And my mind ceases

to become framed

By what haunts me