Incomplete Mapwork

Naive eyes follow naive hearts,
To the grand canyon
To find out,
Nothing about anything
Of everything
Is grand at all.

Our freedom is determined by
How much we really want it.
We sink to crevices of time,
and how it has molded us.

I once was a carefree spirit,
And now these dead plains,
These GREAT plains,
In Manitoba
turn girls wild.
Turn me wild.

The miles of pattern-less grass,
Curl into my spine.
I press down reality
For these small
short
moments.

The luxury of happiness,
is miles away.
In the sunglasses of Hollywood,
We want our reflection.
Eyelashes batting in lust,
Lips stained with cliches,
I could never take part in.

We are bound by the measurements
Of our hips.
I am done with your charts,
Of worth
Imprisoning us
Between grass and sky.