09 December 2012

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My geometry is going wrong.
The circles are unwinding.
The lines are unstraightening.
The latitudes are not parallel.
My map is not right.

The chemicals in my memory
Have turned corrosive.
They drip down in tiny combustions
That extinguish on the paper.
But not before they burn through
Whole towns.

Too many quick-blaze tears.
Too many holes in the paper.
I can’t see the highway numbers
Or the county line.

Follow at your own risk.


Inpsired by the picture prompt at The Mag for Mag 147.

15 comments:

  1. Excellent imagery from the image. Well done.

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    1. Thanks. You made a pretty nice plan on words yourself.

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  2. Everything gone to hell ... creating an excellent poem in the process!!!

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  3. I love that opening line. Very ominous.

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  4. First rate offering for this Mag! Thank you. :)

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  5. That was fun fiery language =-- btw, my browser can't see the pic.

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    1. I'm sorry to hear that. The pic is wonderful!

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  6. Oh, wonderful...sadly, I know the feeling!

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  7. A wonderful and imaginative take on the prompt! xxxj

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  8. This poem reminds me of something a friend said, "Sometimes we're not really lost, we just don't know where we are." There's a difference.

    Great metaphors. (And thanks for your kind comments over at anotherfacet--I appreciate it.)

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  9. ..truly wonderful... and yes.. your end line is much more notable... great take... smiles...

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    1. Thanks. Sometimes I feel like I try to hard with my endings.

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