Here it is, in a nutshell, you, Joanie, Kendalin, Gary, Philip and Anisa were born to become poets. You could all find beauty in a limp dick. Poets stretch the imagination, change the ordinary, make less seem more, and nearness too far away. I don't belong here as a poet, or a man of poetry, only as your friend. So, it's good you made sure I was here. There could have been blood spilt.