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I like Falling Back. Left to my own devices I would subtract an extra hour from every day of my life, and use it to read, or make out with HP, or to write better poems. Eventually and cyclically that would lead to us being awake during the night and asleep during the day, which is a schedule my brain has always supported.

I think this weekend qualifies as Epic. I hate it when my students use that word, especially when they use it in particularly mundane and banal ways. Like, “That Cheerio fell off my spoon, like, right into the bowl of milk like a belly flop. It was epic”. Um, nope. Not epic. Not even a little bit. But, seeing Sir Mixalot and the Trojans in one weekend, is in fact epic. All the fun was had this weekend, and I have to thank my Mom, because we got to go do grownup things for several days in a row, which is important, I think. I was worried for a second that HP’s team would’t win, but after five minutes I was okay. Fight on, USC.

Moscow is a cool town. I like it lots. I’m going to write an itinerary poem and then watch replays from the game. Because sports.

Lines from Eastern Idaho

The color of Eastern Washington is Winter Wheat, planted late, beside the triangles of green land, and the drive gets poetic when the hawks appear, with spots and feathers, all glide and aloof. We are fond of birds of prey. Hawks are pretty in the sky, and terrifying at the meal. Each glance is a picture of an sulking barn or homestead or left-empty ghost town, in the right pallete it all gets holy. Here parked in Steptoe, sixteen miles from Spangle, at the butte, at the battlefield, we marvel in history and watch election signs wobble in the wind along the long roads of dirt clay. Highway takes us back to the trees, and carefully, slowly, back to the mountains where the hemlock bends away from the view of strong moonlight. Back to the home ground, where the creek water takes charge, where I sit, visiting my favorite color again.

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Loooong weekend, poem friends. Good stuff. I went and had the fun in many places with many strangers. Good thing I had HP and Bf to see me through. Happy Sunday, y’all.

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