It's the power in the poets
The ability to raise words from the dead
The ones never read
Flee from this country
You bearer of lost words
Go to the restless swine herds
The Gadarene he rattles
Chains hold him to the tombs
Come poet, there is room.
Rusty latches to unloose
Spikenard to pour on the scar
Memorial of the poet from afar.
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