Here I sit...
Stuck in self
Life presents roads and thought follows
Yet no choice is made.
Inanimate until that day...
When waiting reveals to be a choice
That day control seems frail.

A choice is a cycle of endless dispute
Like a wound left to fester,
Time adds difficulty of treatment
And the body suffers.

Like pitting scales balanced
By the weights of desires and information.
Days add to the weight of the hanging poles.

A choices is made
By asurity in momentary self,
But as motions shift
The wound is reopened,
The scale is rebalanced,
Under new desires.
Here I sit...