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Drifting Home

More notions of home beyond my book and broken-strap backpack
Though sometimes I can’t grasp much more
Easier to tie myself to worn and road weary possessions
Tattered pages, scribbled notes and dust damp essentials
A life made through transitions of time and foreign space
Dancing back and forth between the edges of my state,
Like Kerouac with less drastic ambition
Perceptions of family stretch out from the core
Endlessly
I know where it begins but the edges remained intentionally undefined
Sometimes it’s easiest to find shelter in your own skin, while I wait to head back towards more traditional definitions of home

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