Sometimes I'm startled by the
plain incomprehensible chill
that rocks my hips at the joints,
that surrounds our mouths with pause,
and causes our eyes to remain open
without the need of a slight bath of blink.

Where does this chill come?
When does it land
frosty and helpless
to this common time,
this normal noon?

I can't tell you,
and you, my dear,
you cannot tell me,
but what I find is,
it's something we all wish
lived underneath our ribs,
as if in jail.

Never to be released,
never to be given
any sort of trial, but only
stuck in unsolitary confinement.

It seems this hidden morsel
is a tiny, and confusingly surreptitious thing,
and oddly enough,
too many other beings
are able to dress up like it
at more times than just halloween.

Oh to be jailed in the
smiling wonderland of
this, my portrait!
But it's a dream dear,
only a dream.