She bought a map to stars’ homes. The wrong
stars came out. No fresh gods appeared. No queens
to rule her soft soul. Just actors in masks
and starlets dressed as comical desires.
A bus drove her along broad streets. Old songs
screamed from shiny cars not needing to mean
anything. Tourists snapped pictures and asked
silly questions washed away by loud tires.
She wanted to climb into galaxies,
get answers for sins she won’t commit.
She desired blackness and light that ruled years.
She looked at the famous sign. She couldn’t see
guidance in it, just letters she’ll forget.
The map won’t lead her to the edge of fear.