Indecision is now fashioning forked feet for road forks
and the depression on my report card anxiously awaits an upgrade
so the shoulder whisperers
that use my ears to broadcast debate
may hook horn and halo
preaching policies extra medium
to the cheerleaders of extremities.

But my hunched shoulders
sense regret's residence
further down that least resistance path
and me
searching for the center of my split self
cursing an easy-road rash.

The middle eye
versus
the middle I.