“The Topography Ahead”
I found the spark
in the dark of our raft,
"Go to hell" whispered,
on this soul-forged craft.
But then came the Boy
with his books and those keys,
With "style" in his pockets
and "rules" on his knees.
He spoke of life’s honours,
the way things are done,
The "siv’lized" method
of "having our fun."
And my new-grown spirit,
so fragile and thin,
Bowed down to the logic
of original sin.
I played at his games
while a man stood in chains,
I traded my blood
for his theatrical stains.
For Tom knows the map,
and Tom knows its law,
And Tom sees the merit
in every tiny flaw.
But the heart has a limit;
this soul has a gate,
It can’t be bartered
for a "siv’lised" state.
If the price of our parlour
is Jim in a cage,
Then I’ll smudge out the ink
from its very last page.
The town is a shadow,
their rules are a lie,
A slow-motion choking
beneath our blue sky.
So I’ll head for that sunset,
Its wild, glowing, red—
I’m lighting out
for the topography ahead.
.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 5:00 PM UTC
“The Topography Ahead”
I found the spark
in the dark of our raft,
"Go to hell" whispered,
on this soul-forged craft.
But then came the Boy
with his books and those keys,
With "style" in his pockets
and "rules" on his knees.
He spoke of life’s honours,
the way things are done,
The "siv’lized" method
of "having our fun."
And my new-grown spirit,
so fragile and thin,
Bowed down to the logic
of original sin.
I played at his games
while a man stood in chains,
I traded my blood
for his theatrical stains.
For Tom knows the map,
and Tom knows its law,
And Tom sees the merit
in every tiny flaw.
But the heart has a limit;
this soul has a gate,
It can’t be bartered
for a "siv’lised" state.
If the price of our parlour
is Jim in a cage,
Then I’ll smudge out the ink
from its very last page.
The town is a shadow,
their rules are a lie,
A slow-motion choking
beneath our blue sky.
So I’ll head for that sunset,
Its wild, glowing, red—
I’m lighting out
for the topography ahead.
.
