The Fork

Yes, there’s a fork up there I see it coming.
But I want this anchored blissful status quo,
I want this peace of mind, I do!
Why is it drawing me up, closing me in, roaring at me?
Choose! Choose?
I can take them both!  I can split in half and take them both, I know I can. 
I have enough capacity,
Enough imagination aching for a dual life,
Grass, green and dewy; Grass hot and soft as cinnamon,
Time, a tasty brew of well known satisfactions; Time, biting raw and trembling,
Treacherous with chances.
My head aches with permutations; my hands hurt from tying knots; my soul is sick from limitations.
I’d scream if it would help include them both.
Wait! What if I were French?