Birds fly and flit about
daring to come close
curious minds
wondering what I do here
among the weeds and crop
Category: Poem
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So this is what it’s like
to wake up to a nightmare
of our own making
In a blue state of mind
where an invisible army
ran over the ground game
and left us all casualties
on the field
I’m in a blue state of mind
in a red country
So this is what it’s like
when the bubble bursts in fear
what were we thinking?
I’m in a blue state of mind
where the people are angry
at the sound of his name
we must not yield
we’re in a blue state of mind
in a red country
So this is what it’s like
when the party’s over
and done and sinking
We’re in a blue state of mind
overcome with desperate grief
no more of the same
what’s left to feel
but a blue state of mind
in a red country
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Sunday morning
the radio’s on in Borbazon
the Del Monte hum
laced in cocktail smoke
Borba dances to the groove
seven and seven
and it’s almost eleven,
the lost hour
Sunday morning
the radio’s gone
shades drawn on an empty room
bare walls echoing memory
the last light in Snug Harbor
has gone out
and the hum has faded into traffic
as it waves against the shore
and out there,
beyond the line of sea,
a voice among the waves,
“It’s all good.”
-for John Borba 7/13/12 R.I.P.