on the map

i've got a map upon my wall; it shows me how to get around
it's got red and yellow veins; it's got trains and arteries
and a compass and a key for all the places left to be
i bought that thing three months ago, and it's already obsolete

a thousand neighborhoods in blue, and all the hospitals are red
and all the parks and all the cemeteries look about the same
and my block's a fingernail, and the airport is a brain
two inches to a mile scale, just like up in the aeroplane;

it seems to me that i can see a face if i just trace the lines.
and in that face, i can almost make out my place:
it's just dust in the eyes.

you can't walk very far, if all the bridges are locked down
you could walk across, but they won't let you into town
follow the exodus, walk on top of the cars,
i can mark you with a tack, i can show you where you are.

the lines are tied in knots, everybody's calling up to say
the same thing in stereo, a chorus on the speakerphone
but on the map, a time zone is just a different page
we took the window seat, and we won't look away.

six inches to the battery, and sixteen down to rockaway
i'll lay my head up in the park; i'll rest my feet down in the bay

i can't get to you on the phone; i'll just send a card instead.
the post offices are marked with little dots of red.

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