I am lost to the inside joke
of the empty street in my city
and laugh about nothing, really
as I flick my cigarette to go
inside—
I am lost just inside the door
where I trip on a
slack jawed chair
spending too much time
in front of the T.V.
I am lost in the dark
looking for a light switch
with no luck
so I try to think about
not being lost
with as much luck
as the light switch.
A lost cause at the
bar earlier, crooked darts,
sideways glances and
upturned chairs.
On the way home,
thinking about those
upturned chairs
and how unfair it was
to be cruel to something
unassuming,
I was lost in track marks
on my face when I thought about
how my mother would feel
about all of this nonsense.
I cried like I did when
I saw my mother cry
for the first time—
like she’d just come
from the womb
and it stole my innocence,
So I sit to pry open my chest
and see gears turning,
realize
I'm still looking for the
light switch,
realize,
we’re all dying of the same thing;
click—
Time—
Not the digital glowing red that
shrieks at me to get up,
not the one that
punches me in the gut
when I watch it at work
one thankless,
minimum wage minute
at a time, but
A pocket watch,
a family heirloom,
sacred, unapologetic,
searching, etched with our
Human monogram
and shined to near-perfect
Reflection.
I am lost in its face as it winds
around the ticks in mine.
I am lost in place
I am lost in motion,
I am lost in the Abyss
staring back.
I am lost, but
I still have
Time.