Insect crawls
over the back of my hand.
Because I am
a child
I let it.
To it I am
just endless terrain
a strange warm land
full of freckilsh brown sun
boyish cuts ‘n’ scratches
that it traverses
trekking over the mountain ranges
of my veins
the frozen lakes of my nails
the furrowed ridges
of my fingerprints
It’s travels
...tickles.
I transfer it
to the amazing world of my hair
a totally different dimension.
Imagine it thinking:
“Wot de...! ”
THE TWILIGHT ZONE
...for insects.
I a world
moving through space
and time
the planet of me
the insect
my only population.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-only-population-for-lyn/
