she was the third beer.
i. not the first one,
which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude;
ii. nor the second,
that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first.
iii. but the third,
the one you drink because it’s there,
because it can’t hurt,
what difference does it make?
it sounded old—
—now: it seemed to him that he-was-always-saying-or-thinking that he-didn’t-deserve-some-bad-luck-or-some-bad-treatment from others.
(he’d told Guitar that he didn’t-deserve-his-family’s
if you take a flat map
and move wooden blocks upon it strategically,
the thing looks well, the blocks behave as they should.
the science of war is moving live men like blocks.
and getting the blocks into place at a fixed moment.
but it takes time to mold your men into blocks
and flat maps turn into country where creeks and gullies
hamper your wooden squares.
they stick in the brush,
they are tired and rest, they straggle after ripe blackberries,
and you cannot lift them up in your hand [and] move them. … men into blocks