The War Came To Me

There Is A Sharp Distinction Between What Is Remembered, What Is Told And What Is True.

You Want To Fall, That's All. You Think It Can't Go On Like That. It's As If Your Life Is A Perch On The Edge Of A Cliff And Going Forward Seems Impossible, Not For A Lack Of Will, But A Lack Of Space. The Possibility Of Another Day Stands In Defiance Of The Laws Of Physics. And You Can't Go Back. So You Want To Fall, Let Go, Give Up, But You Can't. And Every Breath You Take Reminds You Of That Fact. So It Goes.

In A Lot Of Ways, The Task At Hand For Any Poem Is To Approach Something That Defies Exactness Or Definition With A Kind Of Exactness Or Precision.

Joining The Military Is Not To Be Taken Lightly. You're Putting Every Part Of Yourself At Risk, Not Just Your Body But Your Moral And Spiritual Centre.

I Guess I Find The Boundaries Between Poetry And Prose To Be Somewhat Permeable.