The Question

Who in consistent inquest
paces for orientation?
Succumbing to mauling query:
bother and pother.
Turpitude in a serpentine twist.
All of which
should be assigned
a sword that splits
a blade of grass.
In each side
an answer
that sensations trouble
the same.

Daily awaken with
the same questions.
Was I a thought today,
terrifying your mind?
Did my absence retrieve
a patient sleuth,
gumshoeing
the idea of our worst tyranny?

Situations,
at a glance...
Face to face:
the only time
all of my inquiry
becomes still.
I just wanted some answers.
Lean in and press.
I didn't learn anything.

What bothers me,
fidelity?
I can't tell you.
When our eyes met I forgot the damn question.