Jet is always black

This is no treasure map, nothing to hide but the words that are hidden somewhere deep down inside. No trinkets or jewels for fools to spend lifetimes in search of, just the words, some like birds, release and they’ve flown. I spout like a fountain or groan like a mountain that’s dying, yet in the…

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A scattering of leaves

In the house of the greatest of charity through the corridors, passing the sacristy, into the chapel where up on the balcony the Sisters of Mercy chant prayers for me. I sit humbly, no coins for the offertory a poor man in search of a history, in the house of the greatest of charity I…

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