this is an unfinished poem, i just wrote it, trying to explain that feeling of stuckedness when you arent sure of - anything really.
there's really no one word for it because it encompasses mind and emotions and body, and how feeling lost affects your ability to move, like in a dream.
frozen in hindsight
each shadow a hinge in my mind
crawling towards a circus of epiphanies
the ringmaster hungover
while the bars on a trapeze
swing idle
i wait for the point
a realization that
never quite arrives
that fly-ball i fail to catch
as my head is turned
moments rush past
then days and years
i am lost
to time, distance - relativity
unable to find the equation
that will balance my integers
then it happens
that felix felicitas synchronicity
of virtuous "rightness" in my life
oh no wait. that wasn't me
so i wait for it and wait for it -
like one might wait for a bus
that is long past due
until
reality scratches on the door
or is it a boggart -
unsure of its welcome
in that moment of laughter
irony is a precious metal
