I have gotten this far


That’s what I think about

when it jolts me from sleep into panic.

There are moments of perfect

existential clarity,

like a crisp image

of my time stream,

and I wonder what part of me

far back behind my brain

can see.

It’s not my eyes.

It’s something else.

Soft circular clicking.

It says that this

is how I’m meant to be.

It says that death

traps every moment

in resin.

It says that my life

is white paint

on black paper.

It projects the world into

some invisible cortex

of my mind.

It says that every worldly problem

is meaningless.

All that really exists

are the car headlights

filtering through my window shades.

The stars stuck

with tacky putty

to my ceiling.

The barcode of artificial light

beneath my door.

It’s the guiding arms

when I first learned to swim

that gripped my hips and launched me

towards the other side.

It shows me that

the universe will take me

where I’m meant

to go.


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