There are enormous white spots on the map in my head.
Who will fill them? Who will wander over their shadowy glare,
where strangely enough light and dark combine?
I myself stomp around this topographical oddity,
glancing side to side in amusement
as I hear in my mind a symphony hall in full concert,
where a conductor lost in frenzied action
sizzles his electric energy to his players,
knowing only too well the soundtrack
accompanying my never-ending map
requires at once a violent and blissfully serene soundtrack
with no skips,
no splices that the jigsaw life brings with it,
and certainly no faltering in the virtuoso`s fingers
dancing across my days like bumblebees.
And so I stomp and strut on my map,
peering into faraway corners,
fleeing others that loom too quickly
dripping with unexpected ocean-water at their edges speckled in starlight.
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