Cartography
|
I am a man lost- circling, familiar,
will not ask the next one directions. I’ve missed the forest-for-trees, prefer to track game with strayed observation. I’ve a telescope that I look through the large end. My canteen is strong, half-full, what difference is west to east what you’re centered. I’ve mapped everything I’ve come across, though it’s upside down and the key is a poor, vague thing of reference. Sometimes I head north where the terrain goes downward infinitely. Sometimes south, but there I found a conclave of witches who chased me three days through fogged swampland. I’ve made a fire out of book glue and bird feathers and rubbed sticks. It’s amazing what you can eat trial by error. When I journal under starlight, I sometimes see the eye-sheen of uncommon things who’re curious of my being there. By morning they’re in the wind and I’m flipping a coin to see which cardinal point will lead me where. A bearded man on a path once told me there are better ways than this, but if so, I’ve yet to find one. |