When you ask me “Are you OK?” 

you haven’t really asked me 

anything. 

 

What exactly are you 

implying? I wonder

without asking

because

I’m too far lost

in your

tangled wood of

acronymbleness.

 

Am I  …

 

an ornery kid? 

     (don’t sit me in time out

     this is our time now)

 

an original Keats? 

     (that’s right, bright star, 

     I dare not breathe without you) 

 

an occupied kangaroo? 

     (I’ve found my pouch, 

     my cradle, my comfort - 

     I’ve zipped it shut) 

 

an oceanic kebab? 

     (substance disintegrating downwards, 

     yet my skeleton structure floats on the surface. 

     the shriveled remains of memory go along

     for the ride)

 

an orangutan king? 

     (crown of thorns 

     eyes of wild

     heart of flaming orange 

     spirit)

 

an orbiting Kepler?

     (my head circles like Saturn circles

     around like Saturn circles around

     like Saturn circles around like Saturn)  

 

an omnipotent karma?

     (my presence tips the paint into your lap,

     swerves cars into your lane. 

     my presence can make you rich,

    can make you pay) 

 

an obliterated kayak?

     (the rapids have gotten too rough,

     can’t you feel my plastic splinters digging 

     into your hands?)

 

an obdurate kazoo? 

     (my mouth is plugged to spite you 

     that’s what we instruments can do)

 

an Orville kernel?

     (i’m ready to be transformed

     under pressure, watch me -

     i’m about to explode)

 

I can be any OK you want me to be.

I’m an overloaded kaleidoscope, 

twist me to see my colors 

change before your monochrome eyes. 

I can be any OK you want me to be - 

that is, with the proper specifications. 

OK?