I’m on the other side of paradise where
the world is made anew each time the doors open and close,
stale air meeting staler;
Imagine the trails if we could see them,
treasure maps leading to and from each start and end;
to and from nothing,
to and from nothing;
sometimes it’s hard to take.
I’m just east of eden,
and a little south.
There is thunder in my mouth to match
the storms of early summer;
there is lightning behind my eyes.
The doors open and close,
the world shifts, becomes
a close, dark place,
and I watch the sparks reflected in the static faces of
this rattling snapshot before the doors open and close and
the maps are redrawn.