The Pain of Decisions

I sit and wait, abated elation

finding station in the wagon tails

of trails yet to be perceived. 

After all path running is simple 

with one pimple to pop but the stop

drops if two tiny tyrannies buckle to knees

and unfactioned reactions 

don't always have a point on the compass. 

Which way when black is grey and white the same

and all earthly brain taming is slain with disdain 

in a parade of unknown cavalcades marching on either side

with starching pressed shirts and singing spurts of wisdom 

in a language you don't understand.

Forks in the road means commode pricing

is dicing and becoming a succumbed place 

you must face or trace back to slacked beginnings 

when your winnings are unknown and growing

to be times of slimed eyes trying to pulverize meaning

out of clay coated glasses.

But the mutt is the irony that these eyes and me 

find despairing and raring occasions for inflations

that curl burled fingers to lingering accidents

that prevent indignation and spark incineration

to the conflagration of deadly wrong choices 

voiced out of noise poised pansies that demand manly's 

to sees clear steering potholes in dueled paths to goals

that may kill everyone in the end.

The life and death of breath breathes in the last 

and final finally of death valley walkers;

the twin roots and stalkers that find 

the difference between golf and golfers is the pith 

listed in lederhosens chosen because of the look

as opposed to the smell. 

If everybody wins, then everyone loses the chooses.