MY PROCLIVITY TOWARD POORLY DRAWN MAPS

Not all those who wander are lost
but I sure as fuck am

arriving at the foot
of these mountains again
not sure how to feel
except mountainous

listlessness mounting
worrying thought-tambourine
clanging thought-tambourine
pressing on incentive unseen

a bus passes, passes, passes
my angel wears glasses
and squints as I squander
another afternoon, dispirited
wandering cross another
dirt road

lo, yo love is gone

still hopin
for a way to hold
my bones