I Don't Know! I Don't Know! I Don't Know!

I remember you crying.
Fact, I remember you
when you were forgettable,
a planed crook
used by elder corvinos
to push me one way,
tarmaced and wide,
moonlighting as a blockade
to the smaller thicketed off-paths,
upping their seductions tenfold.
I tried to lose my head,
to bang one side, so that
all of the books I'd chewed up
would sprinkle out, whimpering,
scurrying off into
yellowed thesaurus pages.
Tried cartwheeling
down the tested cool trails,
now gone cold. All led
back inside a maze
sculpted for $300 an hour.

For some myth of a plan
I went to her then.