Stretch out your larynx soldier, you’re on the right track. Eating gruel out of small tins over big fires. Keep your composure and everyone will follow your every tangent. You’re in control of this battalion of white blood cells and pulsing embryos. Sparkling eyes in the midsummer twilight. You’ve seen the future battle scenes as heroic feats of athletic prowess. You’re confident you can’t lose. Until the enemy invades your sleeping camp and poisons your crates of food, disappearing once more in the night. After breakfast, once the paralyzing poison kicks in, the enemy drifts in, leisurely severing the heads of your battalion. The enemy is cancer. Or sickness. Fat cells. Alcohol in the bloodstream. 


Lose the rhythm and the building topples over 


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