Perfection is Imaginative

Southern Comfort

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Free Write

Written: 2010

The wood creeks

in three second intervals

As I rock

Back & forth.

Fields of wheat

dancing to the sound

sof the wind.

Flies run laps around the porch.

Bee’s collect sweet juices

for a brutal winter.


aside from the sounds of nature.

No sign of life for miles.

I sit here

with time for time.

Not a care in the world.

Not a single engagement

to attend.

It’s me, myself, and I

and I wouldn’t have it

any other way.


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