On the hinge of the pin, of reality,trapped
neither out and not in
and the safety is off.

The jumping off point is stuck in my craw,there's no parachute here and what's abundantly clear is,the balancing act is next on the stage,I can gauge a reaction in the reduction of sound where the audience waits and I wish that the ground would open and swallow me whole,like some Jonah, in the gnashing of teeth and the rushing of air,I'm all at sea and wish I wasn't there.
Then I leap
everything's fast,cast away from the pin and the point is I'm in and I stay,
there is a day and it comes when the hourglass,once full of sand runs clear,the day we walk to the end of all contemplation,
the day reality shifts and life's constant abrasions are at last sanded flat and
the day when the rag and bone men come home,only then do I know,how the action of balancing,balanced me,invariably I get lost in these words which I write and the pen seemed so stable,like the pin when the safety is off I'm unable to close or to hold,be brave or be bold and I'm told,
'spit it all out,invective directed and those I suspected were laughing at me and the struggle I'm in are pinned on the wall'
If I fall they go with me,
we all drown as one or we all live to go on.
This battle I'm in on the hinge of the pin is a theme that has run through the slow of my life,quick enough on the uptake but the break if it came,broke away and the game played anew is game two on the show, where the contestants don't know how to play,any day now when the rules become the why and the how that we live,I'll give notice,an intention to quit,
but until then
I shall sit,
balancing,acting a measure while life takes some bit of leisure time out.