I'm doing 25 things
Which ever way you travel
there are always invisible planes
always these dissected lines
or lines of bifurcation
even with meandering trails
or with well worn paths
there is always some sort of convergence
and some sort of divergence
but always lines
running vertically or horizontally
or as diagonals or parallels
and even those of spiral in nature
and with each step taken
in what ever manner traveled
be it by air, sea, or land
these lines leave a mark on the spirit
of the traveler even if not on the face
But if you live long enough
every wrinkles maps out
the history of the journey
across the cheeks and eyes
across the forehead and chin
and in observing such a person
their world is made ever so clear
in the degrees of longitude and latitude
etched upon their exposed, raw naked skin
