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The stiffness of morning fades.
The depths of thought do not match,
and neither do some physical headings.
The manicured world that surrounds has somewhat settled.

Given to wanderlust:
this implacable man
is a pheromonic suitor of that world.

The cataclysm is everything trending;
The word itself.

Better we learn to live like monks
than to forget,
or to be insignificant.

Not warping and transmogrifying!

Where is there a division?
one might ask.

With great internal patience,
I hope for us to be alive.


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Writer, aspiring farmer and homesteader in North Georgia, making ends meet and trying to become more enlightened.

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