Invisible Maps – a poem

The map grows stronger beneath the skin,

Traceries of fire aching dully within marrow,

The stuff on which demons’ hunger is fed,

Blooming traceries that criss-cross along

Lines of the inner defined self, bonding

With the inner worlds of pulsing horror.


That realm of macro sonar signals sounding

In rhythm discordant against its source,

Tiny, miniature micro world with so strong

A series of effects, melange blended together,

The whole more than its separate pieces.



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