Sometimes I go fishing in a deep dark place that is so
secret even I do not know where it is.
And there I find the magic people don’t believe exists.
There the tears all become words and the words become light
so no suffering is ever in vain. And
the light births stories one after the other, none of them the same.
I don’t know how to get there, or how the stories get
out. But I think I put my Muse on a
hook and lower him into the dark then whatever comes out is partly me and
partly him – in part.
And partly you if you know what I mean cause a story is read
by the heart.
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