I golf at night and let the poetry pour out of my brain

Tree branches are silhouetted against the sky

reminding me of neural connections

I choose inspiration instead of perspiration

swinging the golf club in the dark

I love the smell of the dirt and the fresh cut grass

and the pace of play is perfect

A fog moves in

and I feel like the Great Gatsby

walking down the fairway to find my ball.

Golf Course Ghosts whisper

and I listen for their answers

Remembering what I am told

Then running home

for the nearest

blank sheet of paper.

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