The pocket-knife you got as a present, lengthwise.
The bottle, cleansing of you.
Pick one.
The stepping stone, one level past last.
The bag sealed tight.
Pick one.
Arm yourself with a license.
Arm yourself without a license.
Pick one.
The car and a garden hose.
The celebratory tank of lightness.
Pick one.
The long dive and long exhalation.
The longer walk in the geat outdoors.
Pick one.
Minnesota in the winter.
Arizona in the summer.
Pick one.
The bus.
The train.
Pick one.
The cliff.
The ravine.
Pick one.
The cops.
The thugs.
Pick one.
The soldiers.
The rebels.
Pick one.
A generous insurance policy and a gold-digger to pick for you.
You're so long overdue, so many dues to pay.
Pick one.
It's already been over for so many years.
Pick one option.
You've already known it, day by day, every day, inescapably. You already know all the options, have known them for a span, a useless, worthless span. Just pick your only option.
No comments:
Post a Comment