I

 

"A map of the human heart"

 

Charabanc of verse,

moving across parchment acres

where the vaulted stacks

of dribbled word-khat are spat

and mulched into ledgered soil;

a geology of song – migrant journeys

of the tethered soul.

 

Sun dips behind the ocean’s arc

and hometime shadows throw

a scaffold upon which we climb

and fall.

 

 

                    II

 

"A line taken for a walk"

 

Takes me with it, this chorus line sway,

along-for-the-ride chalk hand

pirouette; a noose-line tightened

into mastabatory flex; or an

arabesque ocean dragnet

where hauler and hauled

embrace in a tail-slap of sonar love.

 

Mahayana sand scribes pipette

multiverse mandala worlds;

know all too well that the wind

knows better.

 

 

                   III

 

"The territory is not the map"

 

Heart wrapped in a clover field

and left to the wolves; it's cold

in the forest at night, why

smother yourself in earth

when you can bivouac in the

scalar heights of isopleth homesteads:

gated lives lived in plan view.

 

Carpets bombed into underlay dunes

that move like ancient diaspora

across boundary lines strung

like wire.

 

 

 

July 2014

MAPPAE MUNDI

© Les Roberts 2014