listing along...
in trying to right the ship,
and fix now torn--once proud--
oral accoutrements,
i have lost my bearings.
meaningless longitude,
inconsequential latitude.

the horizon holds a land mass in its wavering clutches.
weary from mending,
a decision rings clear in my ears.
speech and hands that once handled mending wounds
turn to sharp knives,
and sharper axes,
splintering and shredding past
that which gave me safety and even keel.

rather i sink trying to reach even ground
then live mending a destiny doomed for failure.

NB @ 11:00 AM

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