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The Poet

by K. Kylyra Ameringer

In the dustbin of the world

The poet lies bleeding

Railing against the light

Against the night-blooming poison

Stealing sacred dreams

And dew-fresh flowers.

His hands foreign things

His mind a maze of menace

To his soul;

He lost his words to the wind.

The moon judges him coldly,

A pencil shaded figure

Vomiting black ink.

The poet is no more;

Only the dust remains.