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   The scent of castaways grows keener:

   An aliajactate rattling of bones

   Tremulous on its own tympanum

   Deafens all but the white-eyed.

   How came you here, you last of

   The kinless tribe?? What unpiped

   Melodies drew you to lands so barren

   Of desire that even rats perish

   With dreams unfulfilled and scarce

   Tradeable for beans or molehills??

   My wanderings are not yours.

   The day will not beset me while

   I have the thicker blood of those

   Who spawned your millenial dilutions:

   A liqueur I can share with nights more

   Resonant than were felt by any idol

   You have graven. Look well. You are

   Mirrored in the the pooled bile of

   Your ravishments. 

- David W. Mitchell

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