AT THE BATTLEMENT
I can't go anywhere but forward, I guess;
like a good boy at a campfire cookout. And
I don't know what else to do. At the same
time, I can't play dice with the rocks on the
ground, and I don't wish to stand idly by.
It's such a long battle, way down to the
other end. Peacocks, and friezes of
watermelons and sky; they seem the
only things that people left are doing.
My storm-trooper arm rises high to
salute? No, sorry. I do not think so.
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