I wrote this poem today while walking.

Along the foothills
Down the boulevard
Threading a path along the valley
Straight ahead wide open territory
To my right mountains loom
If I close my right eye
I can pretend I am back home
Walking along some flat old highway
In the flat open plain of Minnesota
I walk on shifting sand
I stop and dig
Won’t stop until I hit bedrock
Then drill a hole until the bit snaps
And plant the first piling
To my impregnable fortress
Nothing will topple it
No one gets across the drawbridge
Without knowing my dance macabre
Choreographed by the hands of puppet gods
Me versus pantheons
A lifelong tangle of war
Until by strings I rearrange the gods my way
And sit

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