with small red pins
that bend when pushed like willows
and snap back to attention
my crackling soldiers practicing the art of piercing
as they march across this outspread page
and one by one they punch
their sharp metal spears into the resisting cork
that sticks and then with a pop
peels away allowing this foreign invasion
these shining soldiers waving their red flag
and i am the grand generalissimo
with the wave and thrust of my hand
i throw myself across the lines and colour blocks
and inject some portion of me into the taste of these cities
these black dots that infect the map
like some pustulating rash,
the result of a pestilent disease
and here i place myself in the midst of it
and walk about with my mouth open
my arms stretched wide and hoping
to catch some of the scent of these places
in my secret crevices to carry away
a stolen treasure, an heirloom of national importance
and they'd never know
such a silent thief i would be
leaving as my only evidence
the stiff red pinhead
planted firmly
pricking the pustule
and let the pus bleed out
the disappointment poisons the skyline
swells in thick milky waves till the whole place drowns
and i keep walking
leaving the waste to fill my footprints
in one of these cities one of these days
i'll find you and finally hang this map
on the wall of one house and leave it
we'll heal the city
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