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The whole way in I thought about how courage is a ring,
and I found it on the hike
"You're not the same Hobbit as the one who left the Shire."

"...I found something in the Goblin tunnels."

"Found what? What did you find?"

"My courage."
It is almost strange

the nurse who caught me remains

a beautiful bird
Trust
a monopoly
the fickle
must earn

Rooted
in confidence
their faith
must confirm

Trust
is a progeny
whose offspring
endures

Embraced
by the concept
all parties
— adjure

(The New Room: October, 2024)
Gap
If filling the gap
Between the man I am
And the one you deserve
Isn't enough reason to
Get up in the morning
Then I don't know
What ever will
I like to think I'll get there...
Once upon
a summer's moon
all stars aligned
I began to swoon

her chestnut hair
her mirthsome smile
crossed every border
of every mile

a fuse was lit
deep within
expelling darkness
erasing sin

new love was born
the stars shone bright
my distant lover and I
became one that night

Does the one you adore
Feel like home?
Do they sound
Like home?
How you think
Home
Should be.
True it's
Easy to say
Just go home...
Harder
If the feeling is
Alone
For the lonely
Life at 21, do you remember it?
Things rush at you, hit you, from all directions.
Any small decision can turn into a major plot beat.

What are our lives anyway but the sum of our decisions?
Opportunities contract and expand around us, like breathing—
and what fills those lungs are our test scores and faculty opinion.

College is a land of dreams—we’re all dream catchers—on our own paths, but the paths are mazes shrouded in haze, tumblers in need of combinations, variants that we must learn and memorize though it drains our communal blood.

At test times, the silence in libraries and coffeehouses is deafening,
full, as they are, of hunched-back phantoms toiling on books or blue-lit screens. If it sounds stressful and dramatic—it is. It’s not a time to get raddled—it’s all a big test.

Your world contracts to the sterile and dry— the facts and the moments needed to gather and order them.

That’s why we love breaks. Fall, Summer, Christmas, Thanksgiving—any flavor—break.

In fact, Lisa and I are on break now, I’m typing, on a MacBook Air, in a helicopter, screaming towards Manhattan.

If we don’t die in this shaky, 250mph, 3000-feet out-over Long Island Sound, cricket-like contraption, we’re going to have a great time—if we do nothing but sleep, hug our families and eat turkey—a great time.
.
.
Songs for this:
Little Hercules by Trisha Yearwood
Constant Craving by k.d. lang
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/14/24:
Raddled = confused or befuddled or broken-down and worn.
When does the
champ know that  
he doesn’t have  
It anymore?
Is it after that
first loss to a
*** he should  
have knocked out in
the second round?
Is it when his body
doesn't do what
his mind tells it
to do?  

His punches are
slow.
His legs are
weak.
He once was one
of the greatest.
Iron Mike, they
called him.

He loses to an
overhyped cute
boy with little skills,  
and blonde curls.
It was brutal to watch.

He was king of
the jungle in those
early Brooklyn days.
Old lions don’t just
wander off and die
alone.  
They get killed and
eaten by  
younger lions.

After this charade,
I hope the champ
hangs up his
gloves for good.
Here's a link to my youtube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbj9bj58Txw
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