It's the Other Games,
the Red Panem,
that keeps leaving me indecisive
on what to spend
my time doing:
more fellowships?
More poems about
Presidential Elections?
Or maybe an approach to the fourth word from the son
that makes it a little bit more
contentious:
I will go hunting by the sea,
regardless,
for that Albi di Bida, that flameforest
sense of dignity
that is so rudderly connected
to my glowing biceps
and yours, too, truly;
let's bring out the big boys,
and the metaphors,
and the similes.
I write myself into Life,
undoubtedly;
I think you used to do the same
until you encountered
Eternity, staring back at you in the face,
eli sa kara sa kupaisang
justu ngua rostu di alegri.
Other cultures named Them war.
But They are actually really friendly.
It just takes some getting used to.
Some blood to the face, and some assurance
that we are still kith and kin.
We are still family.
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