The World Makes Liars Of Us All.

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.

It Reminded Me Of Talking, How What Is Said Is Never Quite What Was Thought, And What Is Heard Is Never Quite What Was Said. It Wasn’t Much In The Way Of Comfort, But Everything Has A Little Failure In It, And We Still Make Do Somehow.

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.

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.

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.