the earth is not flat

There are thousands of miles
thousands of images
thousands of sights and smells
foreign to your shrinking self-centric reality
playing through my memory
rolling along the curve and flex
of my tongue 

You quake
at the vast prism of humanity
while I seek out the corners
the edges
the defining parameters
that play out in a Vennic exactitude
hinting of chaos

I crave flavour and sensation
like you crave white bread and vanilla cake

Bring me your multitudes
so I might take them by the hand
guide them around the bend in the road
across the mountains
towards a different potentiality