I understand—the NO ONE CARES billboard
looms over the exit ramp; Nancy has lost her place
in her novel for the umpteenth time; the Lab
has dysplasia. Overhead, a species
of blank Midwestern sky falls
open like a journal you buy full of hope,
then leave in some drawer where it remains, blank.
The universe is bored with my questions,
finally. I knew it would happen
though one is nevertheless taken by surprise.
So many in real pain remain silent.
Lonesome thing in the forest, stay there!
Don’t come out! You no longer fascinate.