I will not stand idly by
As a pendulum I am always the ideal of a past self of mine and any way I wish to be eventuates itself in six months as if a tree when watered with sufficient periodic thought
I will throw myself into the flame of intention and reality and be devoured by my unmet wants and I will not spend another moment in the cold of indifferent indecision
I have seen the eyes of choice and the impossible breadth of possibility and I have found their smooth homogeneity undeserving of my matching gaze
I will leave to drown my youngest born to chance a life for his senior, I will impart onto myself tragedy as the burden cost of fervency, I will for love watch myself turn cruel and wither with the garden
You will not find me at a crossroads or behind a wooden lattice in avowal, nor in waking sleep or as slave to thoughtless pursuit
You will find me white-knuckled in the chase in horses’ tow upon the hillside
You will find me only ever where I go













