the maps to your heart

by blake ellington larson

are but blank legends that glow like chirstmas paper
the direction of your folly

your due process caught in riddles
is taller than life
realer than buildings

only doesn’t scrape at the sky

it points towards
the silver in the moon that wants
orange halos
cherry moons

your mid-life boiling point
echoes silent sleet

its white elephants
lost in the corners of the room

and you are surrounded by ghosts