"We hide behind sheets of words and sometimes find comfort on wearing them proudly. I have unbowed my bloody head with the things I have killed and revered what I have immortalized. I will continue to shield, maim, murder, pine, ponder and slave over the very words that force itself out of my body but leave its hand clutched on my still beating heart."

-Darrel Pobre

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Maps


Maps make distances a finger-point away
I am my thumb and you lie at the tip of my index finger
There are lines and signs and arrows
intersections and one-ways between us
Never mind the creases
or the coffee cup stains,
the pin prick marks of places we've been
the strings that form a constellation
the weathered paper, textured from its pocketed travel
it is only when i don't see it
it is only when its folded
where i feel we are closer than two finger distances
lines blur and burn in light
as we become one in two places
at a single moment
hug and blindly tuck
in a leather wallet.

6.55 PM
June 7, 2012
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