Maps

My mind is the map,

the highway, my thoughts
red, yellow…thin pink…pale dotted lines
they grow thick in places,
epicenters of thought
cities of hardness
huge chunks of cement and yellow road signs.
The roads multiply,
Verging, converging,
they circle.
There are exits that lead to still blue lakes and empty parking lots
there are black and yellow entrances straight into the heart of the city,
where neon lights and blinking men with red-eyes wait on the sidewalk
begging for a quarter.
Inside are the many paths, all so close at hand.
With so many places to move into and out of,
there needs to be a way to maintain focus.
Where are the roads to dream?
And with so many colored roads, which dream shall I pick?
I carry only my heart
I bring only my willingness
I step over potholes, I walk through the headache of tar fumes and stalled cars
There are a thousand paths,
There is one clear blue choice
There is a highway inside, a million places to get lost,
A thousand sights to remember
It is me in here
You out there
And sometimes the paths cross.