Someone waits at my door. Because he is
dead he has time but I have my secrets-
...
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One of those poems where it is enjoyable and engaging, but still incomprehensible. Like vising my mother with Alzheimer's. I love her, but she makes no sense. I know that's redundant, but so is pointing it out.
The poet seems to have made an earnest attempt to construct this poem but the words, though, selected painstakingly, do not convey anything sensible. I request the poet to revise the same.