Maps

think about the Sermon on the Mount every now and then;

folks have to do things for themselves.

"we're never as young as we are tonight"

husky voices and petroleum leaking from the fuel lines.

perfumes and shattered musk.

electricity lines like heavy arteries 
connecting voices and memories.

cars left worn out at the side of a road.

old worn-out cowboys with their hats down 
and their trucks swerved after too much booze.

beat the dust.

breath it in:

amidst smoke and chaos.

connect until you disconnect--

there is no madness which does not find relief at some time, even for a moment.

a moment can be larger than a lifetime.

,fraught with recognition.

a part of the species lumbers itself with incalculable weight

and forces itself upright

careless of its end.

but wishing for one last breath.

to say what it means and never agree 
with the consensus that this was some gift.

that it just happened.

and it happens even more each day.

folks that don't see that there is no beginning.

--no end.

folks underestimate how big this place is.

that they might be worn out now.

but the world never wears itself out.

and this is an illusion. 

don't kid yourself:

this will last forever.

and it might even get more painful.

...if we're lucky.

because the more we feel

,the more we exist.

we are cosmic dust made into something that speaks.