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Is Being So Difficult?

Bodies fly around, tossed mannequins or dolls stuffed with beans either can shatter or splatter blood. The free flowing sediment is the vision twice removed from reality. The questions always begged in wartime is an endless chain of why, why did, and why didn’ts that can hardly explain the nowness of what is going on (or what isn’t). War seen through a prism of rough hewn reads and television screen sets up the inevitable silent scream when the channel is on mute with the picture of the boy with no arms. I’m torn inside about the purpose of war – how can I be blind to the vaulting ambition that waits in the corridors where money runs in direct proportion to blood greasing ancient city streets?

Rob Levit

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