What to do?

i only desired to live,
to enliven and to give
which is not a selfish thought.
into the final rounds i fought
as bullets and explosions of pique
stacked like flak high and neat,
went ripping past my face.
how can i maintain my personal pace,
sometimes at 25,000 feet,
without sounding a general retreat?
should i remove my Air Force oxygen mask,
i ask?
in the course of a fast life, i sometimes get carried away.
there's not much more to say.
while i never learned to ride a horse,
which is, of course,
a requirement for a rural cowboy,
i had a hard plastic one as a calvary toy
when i was foolish and young,
before any final song could be sung.
but i never think very far ahead,
satisfying myself entirely without thoughts of the zombie dead,
looking for, say, a fine pipe to smoke
often after i awoke,
imagining my bowl filled with tobacco and current news
i strike a match and pause one second before i choose:
should i use a porcelain toilet if the need arose,
or watch the sunrise while standing on my tippy toes
to get a better view?
What to do?