Have casually waved on finger-tips tracing outlines 

of comic strips of no-man’s land 

lying uncontested between seduction and consent;

Smuggled illicit impulses past customary control 

for fear of confiscation and demands for explanation;

Declared destinies aloud with indifference so defiant 

they required confident middle distance gazes to reach;

Am occasionally cordoned off for essential maintenance 

in the aftermath of another unreported atrocity;

Remain guarded, if unmanned and routinely pulled over

by His Mad Jester’s secret services on my own side; 

“Did you pack these thoughts yourself?”

[“Ceadúnas tiománaí S le haghaidh siúcra…”]

Laugh manically as they rifle through documents to confirm

my membership of perennially herded Stock;

Criss-cross cattle grids that straddle lands contested and unfree

From the North of Ire to the Republic of She;

Approached with caution but impossible to see

I am…


..ing to a T

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