In the Future There’s Just More of the Past
Somewhere between drowsy & panic
on the Psychological Spectrum
of (Being) Lost: the center.
It was opening a tomb & finding a feather.
Three cups of coffee & still I could’ve
crawled back into an egg.
How do you know what you want
to eat until you read the menu?
The upside down trees & cloud-blurs
the lake reflected. Deeply embedded
image, washed hence by dream—.
If you trespass her you’ll be shot.
I mean the sign read: Don’t Walk Her’/
You’ll Be Shot. Cows, sheep, donkey,
goats. A woman hanging sheets on a line.
Looking up, inscrutable, not being
able to tell rain from rain from inseam
from me. There’s a name for the darkness
perceived by human eye that is other
than [the] darkness itself. A fumage-be-
spoke cave bones litter. Bells over the eyes.
Who wouldn’t want to watch the horse
nosedive into the sea & forget it’s an act
of cruelty? I was lonely as an ocean
but the goldfish looked happy.
All the kingdoms empty.
This, darling, is hardly therapy.
Running down the hall that was time it-
self in the liminal moments before fully
waking. Lost this way is lost forever.
Think mirror smashed in outer space.
Flower Conroy Punch Drunk Press’s third Featured Woman Poet this August! She is the author of the chapbooks Facts About Snakes & Hearts; The Awful Suicidal Swans; and Escape to Nowhere. Her poetry has appeared in American Literary Review, Prairie Schooner, Gargoyle and other journals. She is the current Poet Laureate of Key West.
Featured image by Steve Johnson