guts
"yes, i have
traversed the
cavern," the cartographer
says; "i will do
everything in my power
to help you find the
way through"
"please..."
i plead, "please
tell
me"
"as you
wish, young
traveler. with
every step
further into
its depths,"
the man continues,
"you will feel the
walls smoothen as
they begin to glaze-
immaculate and unspoiled
by contact
you will sleep on the
bedrock, each night more
comforting as the terra
cotta turns soft, wet
and loam
and after two days the
echo will brighten, rising
steadily upward; this
sound indicates two more
remaining"
with this knowledge,
i undertake a
slow crawl through
the ink-black
tunnel
there was
nothing to be
seen, so
i feel-
(the walls:
smooth as the finest glass i had ever sipped)
i sleep-
(on the bedrock:
soft as the most supple cushion i had ever laid upon)
i heard-
(the echo:
bright as the lullaby of a soprano virtuoso)
two days
later, the tunnel
expands in
a glossy fuschia,
showcasing a
hospital skyscraper
ceiling
and my aching legs stand
and my wanting nostrils fill
with the aroma of
fresh hemlock leaves...
my ascending figure is
a silhoutte in the
blinding sunlight;
i make a dead sprint
toward the cavern
exit
then,
slipping... ...falling.
an anvil
plunge
two fictions
deep,
into the
trench-
everything became
post-mortem at
the precise
moment my
spine snapped
and guts
sp-
ill
-ed
it wasn't until then that i realized
the cartographer
had been
blind
all of
this
time