“Mission Hall”

Walking down along Charles Street A shallow canyon of shuttered shops Seeking traces of the Pioneer Store And the anonymous side door Of  Pastor Gardner’s Fig Tree Gospel Hall . The ‘beloved’ enter through a porch Crammed with bin bags spilling Sweet sweat rancid jumble sale stock, Free for all until the rag man comes. . The usher, a farmer

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Not quite as simple as it reads. The lark he penned a wistful note          towards the dawning of the day, west drawn winds took up the call          and stole his voice away. Uncaring there those western winds,          to punish was their aim imprison in their silent walls  

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Another rewrite.   “Theo”   Theo is with us no more And I fear I might be to blame. Only tangentially I meant him no harm.   I mused his mortality on Saturday And he deceased pre-dawn on Monday.   His manner of passing A show of irony A street performance Under the aegis of the Absurdist Supreme Who hearing

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