Gazel poem: Confusion

I'm at an uphill intersection in what I know to be Seattle, idyling in confusion.
Suddenly we're spurting aimlessly down a dirt road in a pickup heading toward confusion.
A storm approaches fast on the horizon and I turn back to where the sun had been and only see confusion.
It's late at night, but in the street a boy rides his tricycle in circles, creeped out, I turn back in confusion.
I'm under the sea, somehow breathing, up or down? and once again, as if chose by some unseen force, confusion.
I pull a sliver of grass from the bottom of my foot through the top of my head, confusion.

On the verge of full blown pickleage my sleeping mind wakes into a state of confusion.