after an extract from Rimbaud’s ‘lost’ manuscript La Chasse Spirituelle

I am crying over spilt existence which is no commitment to fealty or compliance to patriotic singing no matter the conditions. All those issues of war played with and ‘learnt through’: sandpit classroom or patch of carpet that’s a battlefield. I would never encourage anyone to lapse into heroics, and would likely try to persuade otherwise. I would stop before a finish line if I had the opportunity. I find no satisfaction in the death of an enemy which is an office of human failure to gather each to their own. Keep science that offers more than daily bread away from this fragment of bushland.