the way down

look.
I am weighed down
by a tangle of directions that just
show me back to my place
like a movie usher with a chip
on his shoulder and a flashlight I
will use to brain him.

I can’t seem to explain
this map with my fingers.
they get lost around the
curves of roads and parts
that are grey water—
no, grey land—
no, that’s water, I
think. I’ll have to
explore
it with my feet;
toes know the way
to the water.

I will plant my feet
in the ground,
root around,
look for a buried road sign or
disoriented tourist,

drink twelve beers and
drive myself home.