The Map That Spots Plots Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

When you're racing unsure
through some strange neighbourhood
you won't trace new faces
the way that one could.
You're quite isolated,
but not due to locations.....

Maps should highlight sites of intentions,
and with twisting symbols chart cranial travel,
join the dots, the miles, so thick- layered in hostiles,
graph the sunken potholes of deepest plots-
Pretend dizzy extremes of abrupt elevations
may be tracked in pastel, schematic marks
(just a ruse to show swamps of mired litigation!)

Old maps-as one unravels torn pages-
could, from the creases, unfold friends and foes;
while new maps, (third version, updated)
might warn of conventions,
deplorable gangs, those storms
when dispositions explode...

But such maps are not seen...
So strive for arrival alive. Revise rules to walk quicker.
Suspend Sundays, the stroll, trips with aunts, (note the latter) .
Torment's daybreak's marching for health, blisters weeping seep pebbles-
No tented vacations with rain drenching on patience-.
Attend to the action that would soon amend travel:
repent- lend word 'dead' to 'end destinations.'

OR:
When you're racing unsure
through some strange neighbourhood,
you won't trace new faces
the way that one could.
You're quite isolated, but not due to locations.
Maps should dot lethal plots,
unravel intentions, chart cranial travel
by trails that plodding thoughts walk.
Unfold foes or friends.
Legend dire intimations.
Track perilous facts-
Forego end destinations.