each of us had not become
another but the only one.
across new fields of insight born in
amber waves and orange mornings;
memory had separated us into compartments
made and trenched in battle--
one and all--
ignorant of the grammar
of war,
and titled men in our
minds in failure
whispering bold new
sailors and blue waves.
hold to me old habits
represented and played--
new standards known
and learned, situated
in memoirs concentrated and
contrary to divisions of ideology
conjuring the fronts between
intellectual labor and the
workhorse elite
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