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In dispelling the myths of old His house had been made sacrosanct
Jukeboxes jewelry and trophies Adorned the long corridor
The large Jackson Pollock that hung above the mantle Reminded him how we were all random strokes on a canvas fighting for space
He whispered in Latin “Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.”
Which meant “Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death”
The hand on his cane then tightened.