This Much I know is True

1/25/08
30,000 feet up...
In the washed out light of the exit door at 134 miles per hour we fly.
My fingers work quickly, tightening my forearms in upright position, creating
constructing this blanket for a new life while on my way to bury, struggle,
loss, and pain my aching myocardium. Each cell breaks often, losing so much heart tissue makes me angry, intolerant, and hopeless. End of the spectrum. Sense and logic do not enter this frame I work in. Where is my safety zone? With each death part of me disappears, leaves, or is lost in the whisps of bitter wind. What does mercy truly translate into?
The cold wraps and surges around enlarging my smallness.
I just want to make a difference.