Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Poetry Appreciation

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.


People claiming to be Agents of Al-Queda have released a video tape of an American contractor in Iraq being executed by beheading. Dohiyi Mir has a good and succinct commentary on it. So does Tom Tomorrow.

Hang in there, I'm sure that light at the end of the tunnel isn't an oncoming train.

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