My head hurts, and a poem

The world is a question you can pour and pour yourself into and never answer.
Sometimes a different story -question, world- will arise and ask of you a new thing.
It is a respite.

My tongue tells a story that spins a new world up out of nothing.
You hear, and respond to that nothing-something with yourself.
It is an answer.

The taste of my own mouth is comfortable and familiar, until I question it.
To question is to become a world, to demand an answer.
Have you earned worldhood?

We are each made anxious in questions,
But can be lionized in having answers.
We cling to our answers.

My tongue clings to the roof of my mouth in fear of the wrong word.
I answer the world with other worlds, pouring and pouring.
From out the deeps come no words to save me but your answers.