And then...

Been dying to tell you the secret-
just like it is
Everything is in fractals-not by structure
but in grid-in-side-grid-space holders,
a map of anywhere on parchment.
Pores perhaps provide a relief-map.

Fractal as a symptom of a laser aimed at
a prism, facet or side-effect, escaping only where it burrows out from
hazy photons penetrating angles,
becoming-White. There.
Be coming color-full.
Describe what violet looks like to you?
Is it between two shades?
Tell me how to do the steps for the
choreography of light,
or memorize algorithmic sets
without giving away the Bigger picture
as fractals demonstrate, inevitably infinite.

They have kept me quiet long-
enough to forget what was wrong
to begin with.
They asked, finally, what I see-
They didn't-
know the origin of the light.

It is on.
Won't you come in-
(secret)
I have seen the missing pieces

between us-the dates do not align.

Painting By Sigmund Klempner (1867–1941) (Christie's) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Making magma

I’d like to draw a map of you

for perspective,

for options,

for borders, both imaginary &

reactionary.

Your vellum,

I now know like the belly of my palm.

And our lines converge, overlap, and seal off

familiar territories, provincial islands of natives,

like Us where

there is a sense of belonging,

lining up and finding places 

specific to our likeness and 
locale is in a sense

relative to distance to each other

within our limited spheres

flattened as Atlas can get
and remain.

Two souls collide Here, two bodies melt,

there two souls trapped, 
surrounded bodies of turbid water 

that become brackish by exchange.

This is all I can do 
with nothing else to make

but more magma

in these uncharted lands
and move on. 

Painting by D. Howard Hitchcock (1914) 'Moon and stars over Diamond Head' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Plea bargain

Their life’s journey is a treasure quest,

tough to solve for any X

with all the mortal obstacles.

They hunt for hints by feeling

for warmth on fingertips, and continents.

Not coming near a single solid clue

that was graspable within 

the fingered seams of coast.

Their tokens stacked tall,

They have amassed considerable ease

and yet

Nothing seemed more natural

Than making maps with more

movable lines, theoretical angles

and following the footsteps before

like ants

Inevitable colonizing, war was natural.

The wrong place at the right time.

Mountains make them move another way,

the learning left no trace

Of the gilt progress. 

Image credit(ed) By Jacob d'Angelo after Claudius Ptolemaeus[1] Nicolaus Germanus (www.polona.pl), Cosmographia , 1467 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Finding my way to say

Knowing the words doesn't count for much.
Some sayings are worn thin,
and should be treated delicately,
like I love you.
As far as directions go-
make your own map,
my destination is different than yours.
I offer no solace, I cannot save myself.
I have quit only to find one must start again,
this is why you must love what you do.
Holding on is easy when your life depends on it.
Well-being is a verb that goes past tense.
I know all the words, this doesn't help much.






Image of painting by Pieter Claesz (1597/1598-1660) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Relief Map

Maps help
with plot lines
direction and depth-
if the spacing is accurate-
to scale, even the unknowns
should be measured accordingly.

A guide
shows the popular points
of interest to some obscuring
the curvature of the surface to
others topography via metonymy
giving a greater gist of breadth with
markers that scratch the surface

As smells
are anything but incidental
like streams too insignificant to note
but make dead ends and detours
from the way it was
to the way we get to Be
finding from A point

You are Here
and Now
you know
Where you've been
topographically alleviated
From
lost in place.




Image By Batholith, Mt. Fuji (Wikimedia Commons) Batholith (Wikipedia) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A crappy map is a happy map

A map is handy
for some...
Still-just rendering space
this here: that there
(imagining is not knowing beyond
what is not seen).

This world is flat,
trapped in a map,
cornered in labels and confined in lines,
open to borders-crossing...
Still-it plans
for speculation.

I drew a map,
of no place I know-
but discovered it anyway,
and I know
my way around this place
of space, like the back of my red hand

measured by my means, not in factors of feet
walking the picket. I had to draw it before I saw
it, a map of me in this place, no free-handed trace
left to write what else
could not fit-
why did I quit?

I'm at the edge of the world.
Peering over, dripping down,
chilling off,  the trail simply stopped
mid-sentence, where the directions
should have shown, I should have known
without                           trespassing past the limits of Doubt.



Image By http://www.geographicus.com/mm5/cartographers/schoolgirl.txt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1810 described as schoolgirl whimsical Hartshorn map of Newfoundland.