I did not like to be held as a child trapped in my mother's lap. Her arms constricting, every fidget of my body. Nowhere for my head to...

High above Locarno’s port with outside eyes to east at  midnight: fires of the skies  come speak to me in staccato  forks flashed seconds...

Bodies heavy with rifles, we gorged on meat, fresh from the river and yellow fields, just boys learning to carry  death on our tongues, ...