Ask

or has winter held my eyes
out the window to the peppery wind

or have my coats been clung to the roof
the loins of which bend under snow

or is the skirmish down in the street
a fist having just left my face

or is the sky a bare chested monster
whose breath chokes me every night

or is the funnel to the other side
just a way around my human

or are the arms i never had around
a nest for my disagreements with life

or is the hour's count too little
to be angry all the time

or has my mortality always dug a grave
that i wait to fill

or has the grave been quiet enough
for me to find my peace right here

for i came and stayed back 

hoping to never have to ask,
but i do...