written on the hollow

we have a map of the future
a bodygraph of heartbeats
hitting the wall of smalltown lust
under a hlaf-holy compass moon
and building blocked starlight

we have scars in this surface of streetskin
too many back-balanced books
shoes worn thin were the sidewalks revolt
and all these traced too deep
filled w/ ink to make more permanent
landmarks on the cityslide

we have no desire to be where we are
on a couch in a secret garden behind the ballpark
w/ birds flying lost in the bridge rafters
lights and roaring traffic-tide make them forget
when to sleep and after hours they circle
crying for nests the can no longer find

we have short attention spans
and shorter lives to get lost in
and the soul of the country has been canvassed
under the safety of crosscolored bordermaps
and knowing no matter how far
you find the same countertop coffee smiles
channeled through the tv for convenience sake
but beneath the blanket lies another story

we have escape mechanisms made
of rusty bikeparts and unatrophied muscle
the velocity of longing
certain sunlit parks were the clouds
still daydream of being butterflies
lovers around the world yet to meet
days were the drugs have worn thin
and nothing numbs the need to keep moving
or rot where you stand

we have a map of the future
let's burn it for fuel and get going