Before the map is drawn I know where
I want it to lead me and if
Something goes wrong, I will raise
Hell and Magellan will surely pay.
I will eat through and past to the
Bone if bone is in mind, and how
I get through is more of a nuisance
Than a way of enjoying the flavor.
What weatherman would have me waiting,
Eyes burning through his skull for truth
Or with a hatred for those who tell what
Can't be told? I am old amongst the youth.
Almost everyday I come to that dead white
Place that acts as heaven in movies, but
For me it grips and stretches my muscles and
Tendons with all my blood cells rushing my brain.
There's no twelve step anonymous program,
Just strange looks in Vietnamese restaurants
And an overwhelming fear of an exit ramp.
I'll kill anyone else who tries to write the map.
No comments:
Post a Comment