12.18.08 / 10:52 pm

i once found the perfect map,
red cross blue, oceans and topography;
in my hand, the lines were ground into fine powder,
dust more fine than sand, loosely scattered ashes.

i crave forgiveness on the part of others,
i throw money away for nothing,
i find relief in solitude,
i am uneven, unrefined.

the pendulum, its back and forth,
the building and rebuilding,
the grinding down of resistance and reality
like grain for bread;
the constant motion, the drive between my homes,
the fire i once had within me,
the slow projects of my time alone.

i cannot tell the future and am afraid;
the years and years and years, they settle,
clouds of darkness in the wind,
and fears only multiply.