Another voice explaining why
When I poise left, some incorrect heft tugs me right
Choicelessly. Little need hath my unrequiring life.
I divulge to dim the effulgence of my already-gutted sacred fire
Ill requires a storm guidance
So my tutorless quill feels guided.
A chiding Golem-aliving papyrus scrap
Inscribed upon the gingered insides
Of my reclaimed-scrap hide.
They like my junkyard opulence
It proves popular.
Alchemisland 
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