I studied there became time
data hung like bats only it did not make sense
even in the hairy night of my experiment
flying out to look for more minutiae
only language itself could see. They cheered
pulled it off spoke smilingly at the meeting
I knew then about each stone in its place
each breath cold and crisp my room
romantic wavering it all added up
nothing was squared nothing certain
thank god for my tinkering with curves
pods and capsules. Ramps. Etchings.
That is the map of me. Roll it up unfolded.
Use it for soapstone for stoplight fricatives.