
“Oh, Baltimore…”

Semi-random musings, poems, and visual images from the journey




When ancient scrolls are bleached anew,
The paste set low to boil,
Their wisdom wafts above our land
In clouds as black as oil.
When sooted plaques enclot the stacks
And flags on masts have furled,
The skirling winds that switch and roll
Will coil then clap the world.









