How Revisions Work (Or Don't)

Generally when I post a poem here it's pretty new....and hence, it's pretty rough. As the days go by, I make revisions - and more revisions - and still more revisions. Up until now, I've simply erased each version and posted the newer one so that no one would ever really know I'd made changes. Unless they had memorized a line or two and I sincerely doubt that anyone's gone that far.

This time I've decided to post each revision as it happens - while leaving the previous one posted below. My own little "workshop" so to speak. None of my changes are ever big ones - usually a word here or a word there - or some meter-fixing and rhyme adjusting. It might be interesting (even for me, since I never revise except to change the original on the computer and I never save an earlier version) to watch a poem evolve.

And so - here goes.


Suicide
revision #1

So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home, aware too late that no one wins;
Or here, where bullets know my name and why
I've come - and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the star that lights the city sky?

Or shall I choose to live as old men live -
with palsied limbs and shuffling gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I held dear no matter how I try;
With tired heart and sagging flesh no cash
or costly drug will heal or help disguise?

I fear free will is nought but final ruse.
There is no choice save this; And thus I choose.
_________________________________________________________

Ill Fated
Original version

So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home and suddenly aware that no one wins -
or on a street where bullets know my name and why
I'm there and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the only star that lights the city sky?

Or shall I choose to live as old man live -
with palsied limbs and shuffing gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I've held dear no matter how I try and try -
With skipping heart and stiffened lungs
that costly drugs can not quite manage to disguise?

Perhaps free will is just the final ruse.
There is no choice. I shall not choose.