the lines may be flat but exact purposes
terrain that was at times cruelly maligned but eventually respected for its having been
a careless toss of dry bones to the ancient, promising some slack jesus-like return
following messages brought to you by dupont and frito lay
in the midst of these compulsory journeys, you may find yourself with worse than no maps, but odd ones
compelled to seek thatched and tattered landmarks both namey and nameless
encouraged to sacrifice all identity into its everloving logo
ensconced in broad and primarily colored images
a prisoner to stultified and selfconscious doubtfulness
what the dead would have warned you of before passing
hell, it all leads straight to odessa
feel free to fight and scream, do your worst
look over the somewhat bleak or craggy horizons and figure out which ones to climb
fashion tourniquets from watch belts, make instruments of music from shoes
on the way to odessa, be as aggressive as you can
but in your wrath, and on that journey, the landscape spreads like an easy lover
butter melted upon the most deeply buried slice of toast
satisfying through every last bite of dirt in the effort of finding diamonds
and the heat is effortless
and the cold is unflinching
the madrigal mistake, misappropriation severe, to the point of many thoughtful past regrets
delivered to the desolate lands of travel
where the birds go north and south
and travel we do, or must, us never be still
we come to odessa
a stopping place where we learn to forget our names
a tomorrow that collectively forgets the idea of future
an atoll of how right it is to live in this current way
and keep living after