I'm standing on the edge
With my head reminding myself how I got here—
That I've come too far to turn back
And my heart reminding myself how I got here—
That I can't give up now
My feet tremble indecisively
So my knees bend to hold my center of balance.
My hands evelope my neck
While my arms pull back just enough to prevent asphyxiation.
For, im trapped in this form of indecision,
So I put my indecisions to better use
And stand on a chair
With my indecisive feet
Trying to make sense of my existance and then inexistance
In between that manner of split seconds.
My indecisive knees deciding whether or not to let my feet push.
My indecisive arms making sense about to or not to spare my life
Another second or two
Afterwhich my feet no longer planted remain
For gravity only acts upon my neck
While my hands choke the neck that burns against mine
Hoping that perhaps the rope will give up before I do
Immediately I regret the decision
Or maybe I'm just preserving this suffering as long as possible
Since that which once felt can never again be thereafter
For, nothing there is after the soul removes itself except a corpse
For, the decision has been made.
There is no turning back.
There is only a push, struggle, and death.
Nothing more than that which was imagined beforehand—
Nothing less.

in a house built by stone and asphalt
I ellude to the discussion inside of innate moments of love
baked cookies as traffic leave their shoes at the door
a knock from a door lest I implore try to even the score

There she sat in her old chair with grey hair
pillars of smoke whisked through her eyes with a tear drop
the saddened evelope was delivered of a long lost loved one that went home to be with the Lord...,

She had a *** of coffee waiting in the patio with a heavy shawl upon her neck
whispers in the corridor those angelic pitter patter of soft sandal feet
She took here time with it & never quit
Grandmother's woven quilt may lead someone to great guilt

Her laughter permeate the atmosphere in old fashioned rhetoric
alone again sitting outside on her porch swing the dinner bell rang
old farmer Ted who lived at the edge of the street came by with freshly baked bread
she softened her lips and offered Ted a kiss

Finally it was done out of great amazement she entered the quilt in the Farmer's Fair
that year it won first prize with a word to the wise
the radio was playing her favorite song by Glen Miller, "A Sentimental Journey"...
yet why should she worry her days were spent in a high sophistication

gives cadence to the simple grandma popped a pimple stayed in the parlor
was so very happy for once in a long time coming