Everyday, the poet, reading
poems of the century’s best
and brightest, feels the old,
familiar tug on the sleeve and
hears the voice in the ear and
feels the pit somewhere down
south. And so the life-long
battle for the soul continues
in little ways, everyday – a
tug, a whisper, a pit — not
so much in the grandiose de-
cisions regarding war, as
necessary as those may be.