what is it, exactly,
that you're doing?

I'm talking to you,
universe

how am I to take
what's happening?

I bare crooked teeth
still through all

I feel so warm &
wanted

yet so wholly
rejected

I need whispers
in my ear

sweet messages
to hold me

when there's no
refuge near

what at last is
the scheme here?

there's a rug
somewhere,

set to be ripped
from under me

but that's how
these things go

like spring snow

the way that the
wind blows

all of those
spectacles

into observable
formation

I want to understand

I'm not ready yet