Sometimes I think I remember the future.
Can’t do much in it, I’m only a watcher.
And I reminisce just like Philip K. Dick –
I can feel the longing deep in my belly,
My perverse déjà-vu; feet turn to jelly.
Is missing the future inherently sick?
Please let me back there – yet it’s only a trick.
This is the picture – I’m looking around
Right now, in this room. Each colour and sound
Is ancient, archaic. It doesn’t belong.
This is the picture – Like a glimpse from the past
It scratches your heart but that itch will not last.
It’s just an old song that you knew all along.
It’s just an old song but the lyrics are wrong.
What I’m seeing right now – I know it will change.
The future I almost recall is less strange.
Familiar even, and comforting too.
Perhaps it’s a way of escaping the now.
Perhaps just like Philip K. Dick I know how
To drown in the passage of time right on cue.
Recalling the future, my strange déjà-vu.