Deed


as someone who directs
most of their awareness to their own thoughts
chasing whatever butterflies
flutter by –
having my nerves tapped
in indecipherable Morse Code
is intoxicating –
having narrative trickle down
from the water tower
down pipes feeding tributaries
pooling into each follicle
when did the borders of my body
become strangers to me?
lets chase back those dragons with
an ink-black treasure map
a compass pointing back to me
reminding me – YOU ARE HERE
the first words in a journal
saying – PROPERTY OF ME
blood swells around the printed shores
red line tapping the newly-posted sign
that reads: TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

© chris DINGLEY 2014
first performed for Words To Live By, Ottawa

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