Question Mark

Question marks huddle
Arial black splotch fuzz
In the shape of California
In the high corner of my room
Like pulsating Daddy Long Leg clumps
Elongated.

They’re muddy

And indefinite
And never have
An answer.

They emit the same

Quiet buzzing sting
Of an unoccupied
Phone line;
Empty echoes
Of the hanging ring
When I pick up
To no one.

“Plastic polymer casing,

Or will you have skin?”

“Lover language casts out another.

Do you accept?”

“?”

“?”

“?”

I don’t have

An answer.

Eye decay.