Fugue State

Fugue State

In the dream...
I'm not sure how I got
here or where I was going.

It's dark.
I look at the street signs
that I pass,
and for a time I'm
not finding any that I recognize.

Then I begin to think
that things look a bit
familiar but I'm
uncertain.
I want to run
but I'm tired
and unsure how far
I have to go.

I try to remember
but nothing comes to mind
to explain
how I got here...
where I'm going...
where I live -
where my home is.

I don't seem to be injured.
I want to remember...
I begin to question
whether I even know
for certain
who I am?

The people I pass
look unfriendly -
not dangerous;
they just don't convey
anything resembling kindness
or friendship.
They don't know me.
They don't pay me much attention.

What would I say anyway?
Ask them to tell me who I am?
Or ask where I am
I cannot ask how to get
where I am going
because I do not know
where it is I am going.

I don't know if I'm afraid of the ridicule
or convinced of the futility
in even trying to get help.

I want to fall down on my knees
and cry... cry out to someone,
“Please help me!”

But I'm paralyzed by my fear
and all I can do
is keep walking
and hoping that somehow
things will become clear
and make sense.

--B.M. Whealton is currently the publisher and co-editor of Word Salad Poetry Magazine. Bruce has appeared in publications such as Gravity Hill, Simple Vows, Venus Rising, Aphelion: the Webzine of Science Fiction and Fantasy, The Horror Zine, Childe Bryde, the thin edge of staring, lunatic chameleon, and lines written with a razor. He is also the owner of Future Wave Designs.