Frownland

What is it?
All over this everywhere
comes a blinding glare
that doesn't come
from the sun.
In my journey
from here to there,
from her to him
and all points
in me 'tween,
my field of vision
is brim-filled with frown.
What is it?
A certain itch
buried deep
in the shallow creases
of my increasingly
worried brain
spins like
a dust devil
pulling rocks skyward
into the Sonoran sky
to splash them down
on unblinking winshields.
Maybe
I wet the bed
of roses
we were growing
for our turn on the track?
The magnet pull
of the mirror
is growing.
Could it be
this haircut?
This expression?
Could it be me?
Is this why
Syd turned into Roger?
Greta dissolved into Harriet?
What is it?
Everyonething painted frown.
My steps quicken
and I keep thinking
of a certain badger hole
deep in the twisted thorns
of a dark forest.
I'm not gonna run
anymore.
I'm just gonna try
to smile
and mean it.