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Thank you for this bumpy gravel road to nowhere, this pristine sidewalk graffiti of thumbprint and initial. I am

not the first to pass this way, not the only traveler on this road, not the only one to mistake the map for the territory – or was it the other way around?

I will not be the last haggard soul, or the final disembodied poet. I look east and see a forest of pens, west lies an ocean of paper. Between

the two there is only me and this bumpy gravel road to nowhere, this pristine sidewalk, graffiti, thumbprint and initial.