It clicks and clacks beneath my fingers.
  Letters make words make lines make poetry.
  I love and hate and lob grenades in foxholes
  you hide in when we're fighting. I'm drunk
  and dangerous pieces of truth ooze out of
  my dangerous mouth I can't control. I'll
  sleep and wake blinking in dismay and wish
  I had a weapon to click and clack beneath
  my fingers to write my despair and love.
  Can we forgive another day? Try again?