the path i follow backward
is not a path but a map
of every motion
not a map but a labyrinth
a morass
of directions, repetitions
reversals
every fear, every wound
I haven’t let go
not a labyrinth
but a trap
every cigarette
every mistake
caught in a dysfunctional body
struggling ceaselessly back
to plasticity
and feeling
splayed out again on the bed
thrashing
2 thoughts on "the path i follow backward"
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And yet the poem is, in a way, an act of map-reading, even if in reverse. Making meaning even if chaos.
I meant “of chaos.”