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I’d wait for real things
More time than I have,
But to get me waiting for hints
Is cruel.
I’ll cut waiting
With one cruel question,
Sharp as a scalpel
Going through my eye,
As if this surgeon, myself,
Tries to see
If we can survive
In it together,
Or if he needs to take out
The loose ends
And build a new image
For my eyes to see
And understand.
Should this cruel question
Get a cruel answer,
I’ll survive.
Should this cruel question
Get the good answer,
I’ll live.
9 may 2006
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