Cartography of Folly

Of uncharted territory.

I’m mapping your random vessels,
Imagining against the yesterlights,
The treacherous echo of you,
Calling it to dance our tarantellas;
Choreographed ballets, for imaginary
Dancing birds, wasting life inside
Wooden quarters, safes, forgotten homes of
Archaic anatomy, the Once: when we laid,
Backbones resting zealously atop boring tiles,
The absence of the spirited, elastic lawn, covered
In frost, in seasonal licks, “We are”, you declare,
“Enough.”, toying happiness as if it was a meek affair,
Masking my silence, of times I didn’t know,
Ago of youths, charting our disasters, forgetting
Essential organs too, buried within fruity flesh,
And as your bruised lungs airpaint reality
With their heavy breathing, agreeable natures,
The back yard’s wildflowers fade, I am
I’m unseen, and to the drums of your ears
I become my selves/I sing insane. 

Author's Note

All my words with the quality of rants to my lacking wits.