- Erotic Poetry
- Mother Nature
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PTSD's got us all in round about ways. We learned we weren't safe. We accepted leash-like security with three shots of a stiff drink. I think I know what this war will be called. We warned and warned them. The trip to corn fields in the North. The downpour of tears. Everyone looking at me. The little lies and big, big schemes. The exponential number of possibilities. Any creative expression is a kind of prayer. Mother Nature sends us messages. Some big, some small.
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