can: a conversation with amie
dedicated to patch, a enigneer
we sink at the rolla together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the book beat down
and we talked about .
You catch you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to
why: for you, the of , the
whose body is his temple,
the who will to the
. You loved the thought of
, the thought of , of ,
of . And I sat there
in the while you sat
on the edge. I . Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of more ,
, more , more ,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
them one on one, to
, with your . And your
lit up. I was beginning to ,
, only years later. I'll remember
you with the in front of
your , and your love of .
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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