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Like a specter from my mind's mists,
like the highwayman appearing from behind the wood,
musket in hand, clothes atattered,
you were there Jeremy Guthrie.
Like a river dried and cracked,
like a river renewed with acid rain,
all grays and greens,
thick like an industrial paste.
Like a tempest pouring into the coast,
like a hurricane, black on the horizon,
but only category two
and promising a damp afternoon.
Like a boogeyman deep under my bed,
like a monster's fingers scratching at my closet door,
I'm embarrassed I was ever intimated by you Jeremy Guthrie.
You're not even a prospect anymore.