Aren’t We Natural? Do flies ask why corpses stare at sky while flowers feed on flowing blood? Greed floods the plain. We remain the same, destruction our game; we are the flame and the ash, food for the fruit tree, honey from the bee.

to Pursuit Happiness is an activity, a busy bee, a butterfly, a bird, feeding Freedom’s flowers.

Note to Sow I’m bent. But not broken. Spring is coming for my Snowy Silence. I’m ready. No explaining. Just an early crop. Berries, Bees, Seeds.

Note to Call and Her to day differ rent as same old her wise her spreading fertile eyes her mammory beau tea hearterized proffer seas bee longing sum one said two three four more a stream a dream

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