a map

I want a map
to the A-list clouds,
directions to the proudest tree
and the river
where the salmon swim,
sanguine,
amongst benevolent bears.

I want a map
to my innocence (before Vegas) and
my experience (after Nice).

I want a map
to the trees that explain my history,
in the notes of a didgeridoo.

I want a map
to the streams that remember
those who have fallen
for my jokes and
the dirt
that whispers
of weather
(or not).

I want a map
to bring clarity
with a key:

Squares signal
inspiration;
circles,
paucity of hope.

I want a map
where X marks the spot
where I
never
never
never
want to go,
except to greedily
unearth the treasure
with gold doubloons,
a diamond tiara (natch),
and pixie dust (but not the that colored sugar kind).

I want a map
beneath and above,
beyond and amongst
the cooing of pigeons,
the colony of seagulls,
the charm of hummingbirds.

I want a map
to the treble clef of the
opera singers,
plump and
soft-hearted,
serenading the sick rhinoceros.

And I want to fold it
and fold it
and fold it
without the trauma
of everyday
streetmaps.

(with apologies and thanks to Utah Saints.)