notes of a cartographer

how i dragged you in the thick brackish waters of our uncertain times. and what a shame–not sadness, nor regret–what a shame, that the world must go unconscious of our fight. how i teared you, because i knew you'd rend me, my every move. misfortune had our legs, our arms and throats–it brought the world to endure another much unneeded blow. with what was left we could build castles made of cards, resting on mud wet wings of glory days bygones and mighthavebeens. as void would turn into vegetation–the life could drain the plains, the parachutes we had to open and didn't. what a condolence of black ribbons, ripped velvets of deciduos logic. how i heaved the slow processes of need, into hindrance of rocks and details of a forgotten smile.

obviously for Z.D.

wishes

if only i could make my mailbox

fill itself

speak

instead of this

white on white starvation

and endless circling