Ingenious Mimesis of a Bad World

I wonder what we're doing here.
It's not always clear.
But sometimes I fear that my beliefs about the world,
political, economic, social, but hold my love--
I fear my beliefs are wrong,
perhaps what's worth fearing is I could be right.

At night I approach speed bumps,
drifting off slowly,
then at once.

I stole that line vaguely. I forget from where.
She is staring at me through the looking-glass.
Look oh how clever Tom is, he's self-aware!
This isn't poetry. It's prose, dumb ass.

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?