the maps that are most wrong

I made a map for scavengers

of the treasure that I hide,

and every time I made an “X”

I smiled because I’d lied.

My treasure’s in a trove of tales

gone silent as a sleeping cat

their teller buried year by year

don’t pity that,

don’t pity that,

no, please don’t pity that

for one man’s treasure

is another man gone

from stone to stone

to stone to stone

chiselling the names

that come along

leaving the markers for

the maps that are most wrong

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