Ok...

Pulling myself up from rest,

as though the weight of the ocean held me down,

I rise and prepare,

like Cthulhu awoken

and ready to gobble the world.

A landscape of squiggles and squares.

There's never a map for this place, only

the instinct of your feet can tell

you where there might be a restaurant

to gobble planets.

The menus there are as clear as the air.

When blind to the color clear

there is the never-ending fear that one is wrong

and has made an ass of oneself,

and yet we persevere.

Again no maps.

The first time I heard "Maps,"

by the (Yeah^3)s she dedicated

the song to her father and thus

I've loved the song forever.

It is not always the words that mean the most

but why they are spoken

and for whom.

Trying to speak in squiggles and squares,

something will undoubtedly be lost

in translation, here and there.

Later, later,

the color clear can be consumed

until it is clear.

But lost among abstracts, wandering warm,

mapless and friendfull, it is wonderful,

this serendipitous momentous