After a rush,
a little initial
blush
of enthusiasm,
this dream—
like so many
of your other
ideas—
sucks
itself
inside out
and becomes the color
and the vague
shape of everything
it's not.
You've got no choice but to
lock this one up in a drawer
with those others,
you tell
yourself;
this map
which calls
such attention
to its own utility
and to the
fact of its
having been manufactured.
The harder
you stare,
the more it looks
like the sort of
manicured and
captioned thing kids draw
after they realize
they ought
to show someone.
