There will always be maps

there will always be maps
     to mark our dead trails
to devise new bold lines at large
     to exist in abstract vision
to make real when followed afar

the time between motion
     is opaque, malleable
floats like absinthe cloudy orb
     fog-like in my sight
promises are all from memory
     until they've been proven false

There will always be maps
     to divide one thing or another
to draw a trap for the mind
     to paint in one color what is many
to place in hand what is unattainable

the time between motion
     is like death, immutable
follows like black dog, nips at heel
     with diamond claws and prophetic whim
phantom-like in my peripheral
     until the door left open creaks at last  

there will always be maps
     to designate and mark the dead
to bury and harvest the living
     to draw lines on aged bodies
to sever the connective tissue of reality

the time between motion
     is fluid, indiscernible
from heat-death entropy
     rose-like its scent lingers
as bodies baking in the sun
     until even scent and taste halt

there will always be maps
     to draw footprints to our attention
to make what is and what is to come
     to carve a deep path and lay tracks
to determine what the future holds

the time between motion
     is something new, frightening
something that must be solved
     with numbers and quantities
each step is one foot than the other
     solved for variable X or Y
there can be no uncertainty, coincidence

there will always be maps
     to guide the living
to draw out the boxes of the dead
     to place us on the unerring path
to prove there is no other way