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I fight the poet churning through bone and gristle, flowing through a bloodstream filled with words and ideas. There is a need. Incessant? Inherent? Indeed! Craving for release. Escape from heavy tongues saying, “you cannot, you cannot” for the poet in our modern world is but a sentence in a book about iteration from olden days. We have technology now. What need is there for passing on history through spoken words?

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