All Pain Is The Same. Only The

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.

One Of The Things My Service In Iraq Did Give Me Was This Freedom From Fear Of Failure Or Any Kind Of Expectations That I Had To Take A Standard Path.

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.

Poetry And Prose Are Of Equal Importance To Me As A Reader, And There Doesn't Seem To Be Much Difference In My Own Writing.

I Can't Envision An Honest War Novel That Left War In A Positive Light.