Epigraph Map

The pages and days
have seemingly passed
through epigraphs
and paradoxical
logics.
Maps upon maps
that confuse direction
will be creased,
and folded....
all in the wrong ways.
Spread it out.
Condense it again.
Light it on fire.
Spin the globe..
reach out your finger..
I am now logistically vacant.
Where I am going
is uncharitable.
Cipher the topographic moto.

The time I've been crossing
 was journaled
out of a true heart,
but it's all about a stubborn
foolish crowd
of half witted
geniuses that barely
can find themselves.
This is their demographic.
I have to draw new territories.
That place is gone.
There has to be
somewhere else to go.
Stick a flag in the claim....
a poem about atlas
can carry such weight upon his shoulders
so it seems the dreamworld is gone,
and now I wait for the next to come along.