but now that your lips are burning mine
I am buzzed right now. But I've come across startling revelations. Breaking news always has a way of creating this wave in my life. I'm not actively involved in drama but it loves to meet me at the end. la la la la la la la la la la la la... I am reading Brian Turner's "Here, Bullet" poetry book again and I am in awe of a soldier's capacity for capturing the heartbreak, envy, homesickness, pain of the war in Iraq. His observation post poems are a reminder to savor every moment of beauty we have as free men. He takes a simple binocular view of a woman "shaking loose her long hair" over a balcony and turns it, like water into wine, a moment of appreciation of the life he left behind and beauty in a world of destruction that stretches as far as the eye can see. I miss writing poetry, spending hours at a time compiling sentimental moments, sweetening and condensing my words for double-meanings and precision. It's like hearing a foreign language and finally comprehending every nuance it has to offer. It's like knowing the smell of a rose when all you've known is its shape. I miss home more than over. And this void tells me I squandered everything ever offered or implied to me.