We question ourselves to be
mad libs while a double blind study
fills our mouths with
blanks.
I'm in need of a verb to make
sense, the illogical.
What feels like charades?
I'm writing a census and am
now an intimate feature burrowed
in the qualm.
A paradox to the misgiving.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem