I’ve mapped Boston.
It was as if my pen assaulted the paper.
I scribbled mad circles
And became injured from the labor.
At first I didn’t think
This was good for my heart.
But over time I learned
The road ends where it starts.
Finding my way could be called an obsession
It could be compared to battling a typhoon
But if I could figure out this city
I think I could even map the moon.
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