Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
creeps through this petty place
until the last syllable of recorded incoming sirens
and all our flashlights have lighted fools the way to dusty death... at the chow hall
Out, Out! Lithium powered candle!
The Fobbit's but a poor player who struts
and frets his hour upon the tarmac,
and then hears the Herky-bird roar.
It is a trip taken by a warrior
full of sound and fury
signifying the coming.
With respect to Bill Shakespeare.
Today I relax in Bagram, tomorrow, near as I can tell, Jalalabad.