that night we were driving back to Fargo
not really saying much, until

“what if we just kept going?”

our bikes were already tied on the back,
our luggage in the trunk
(this could be so easy)

we stared at each-other
knowing this as true Kairos,
the opportune moment.

we could stay here, just here
or take the wild road (out)

we chose wrong, we chose easy
we chose safe and sorry

(should have taken an airplane,
turned “we probably shouldn’t”
“screw it, let’s go”)

I want I want I want

India for Holi
Rio for Carnival
Thailand for the
full-moon party
in Koh Phangan

I want to dance in Seoul
I want hostels filled with
drifters, the ones who
know eight different languages
the ones for whom life is a grand roaming
the ones so drunk on wanderlust

they can barely find their way home

So I run into my roommate’s room, “Hey, which countries have you been to? ” It’S LIKE SEVEN