What It Must Be Like

Disembodied fragments of orphaned memories,
dreams abandoned by daylight’s arrival,
weave a matrix of this and that, of here and there,
a mish mash of fleeting thoughts,
part and parcel of the missing whole,
lapsed recall creating separation
from who and what, where and why,
a great divide grows between now and when,
from intent to action, confusion becoming norm.
The mind misfires, fragile connections break,
the face contorts, brow furrows,
eyes stare through others, like x-ray vision
as if searching inside another for a misplaced answer
or a moment stolen, hidden, pleading for its return.
The person and place divorced, becoming no relation
to the past or what’s next, questions are asked
why are you here and who are you?
Answers given seem to match different questions.
Is the newspaper in the refrigerator?
Why are the missing keys in my hand?
Is the obvious a puzzling riddle,
the nonsensical crystal clear?
Fragments of the fragile mind spit and sputter
and wonder, why you are so kind to me for a stranger?
I don’t know these people here.
Do you know where I live,
and how to get there?

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: