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In our purple blazer
and gaudy tie
we sat: the putative heirs

to martyrs' blood –
though unlikely heirs
tuning in

to the back end
of the Sixties:
the philosophical

drone of Dylan,
slick blues
from Eric Clapton.

The miraculous
our staple,
we pondered

the Shroud,
its weird reminder
of truths

that underwrote
our lives –
astride two worlds,

like Padre Pio,
we had the gift
of bilocation.




◄ Getting It Taped

Penguins on Parade ►


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Wed 21st Sep 2016 19:58

A sculpture of words perfectly expressed and with economy to reveal that sense of schism of inherited knowledge and being non partisan - but the word pondering is just what is done at a certain age when confronted with extremes.


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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Wed 21st Sep 2016 12:28

You never cease to actually 'thrill' me with your work - the scope of thought and the killing details so intricately enjoined in such a short piece.

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