Not Even Lost

Not just visiting, or even simply passing through while heading somewhere else

Without a feeling for a destination, no real inclination towards an actual direction

Shimmering stars light the sky but there are no signs where there is no road

Coming out of nowhere not expecting to get somewhere, or even ever to return

Not even lost, without a start or finish, but unsure where I’ve been, or my heading

Could not tell if I, indeed, traced a circle, no way to remember if we were here before

No one waits with a light on for me and everyone is traveling in different directions

Bumping into you after you bumped into her, that guy seems headed where I came from

Though our sun comes up every day now, that’s just for a very short part of forever

It might be confusing and I would be dizzy except - It’s just always been this way

Often I think I am briefly tangent to some illusion just as I accelerate back within it

We all move together but separate towards all directions, faster than we can see

Not even lost, falling like raindrops at tiny points in vast cycles we cannot be aware of

Pretty sure that I can see where I am going and it’s mattering less and less where I came from

Simply because I feel lost, I mistakenly think I went from somewhere to something

But being lost was not as frightening as realizing I can never know where I am going

Racing towards goals which materialize suddenly but vanish quickly into darkness

Tracing the stumbling, mad arcs of a dizzy whirling dervish in this unending blur

Holding at an unmanageable velocity towards unspecifiable objectives

Not even wrong, for our answers were not for the very real but always unasked questions

Not even lost, for that implies a way to a somewhere we can never know exists

Nonetheless pressing onward within this collective imaginary frame of reference

Staring out into the darkness through windows that only reflect the bright lights inside

Screaming passionately into that deep space vacuum that does not carry sound at all

Each and every one of us at the exact center of a cosmos that retreats in all directions

The scale of my experience too small to be plotted on a map of space and time

Unable to ever even get lost, except in our own surrealistic fantasies

A vast silent, deep nightfall races towards me from every direction that I turn

My senses are gone, my memories evaporated and no new thoughts can stir me

Then I awake to the morning sun and note briefly that this might have all been a dream

But then, the simple fact that I cannot even be lost thrusts itself close upon me, once again