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Scribhneoir

A midnight yarn weaving into truth
A lonely impulse of delight
Drips the potion into my tea
Bleeds the sadness from the night
 
A timely relic of yesterlore  
Bridges the distances of two shores
When tongues were still with terminal weight
The self I love and love to hate
 
I acquiesce to an uncommon will
To move the beast formidably still
From his cave in my chest, an alien thrill
To rethread the needle, rewet the quill.
Written by PunchDrunk (Margo Garrison)
Published
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