Waking every day to confusion

without limit - where clarity

fails me (an incongruous, unimaginable event) -

is alien, and recalls a merciless void,

a monsoon season of seeping rain and dense fog.

 

Where reason finds no harbour;

where discord folds back upon itself;

where squalls become storms become whirlwinds,

and where ground is unforgiving

of gravity, and up becomes down

 

because one's senses forget all

they were taught to believe felt truest,

because the certainties of lived experience

no longer pertain; because the future

becomes nothing, null, lost in not-knowing.