the future as glasses
fogged up. the future as swimming
pool flooding into leaky goggles. as contact
lenses migrating to the back of your
eye, wearing opacity
like a coat: the 9:00 pm mist
draped around the bowed shoulders
of the I-5. cars sliding across the interstate
like marbles on an abacus. the future, a telephone tower flashing green,
red, whatever sinks your ship, and all
i do is look through old messages
instead of sending new ones — what do i know
about the future
except the tap of fingers
on steering wheels, bits of asphalt
skittering across the hour.
headlights blinking the blindness away
on, off, on and on and on—
maybe every marble is going
somewhere, even if it’s just the bottom
of the ocean. and the flowers
on the window sill are wilting,
but one of these days i'll pull up
the blinds like a flag and light will
leak into my room, glazing every dead petal
with a golden sheen: 5:00 AM, and
the sun is coming up.
