cloudy days make for cloudy ways

it isn't the weather,
though it doesn't help.

it isn't the grayness, the clouds, the rain.
it isn't even the way one rain drop always
makes sure
to land on my neck,
though it doesn't help.

it's sort-of the wind--
changing
anything, nothing, and everything
at once.

but really it's the way
one merry-go-round my veins
can go fast, go slow,
turn into dust.

it's the way all i can wonder
(the only question i need answered)
is:
is life always this mean?