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Thursday, November 12, 2009

THE WORLD, By the Grace of God
By the Grace of God

True, though now it seems strange, when I look back,
Relate times we had, and see the Columbian men
With their expensive suits,
And me riding in their limousines,
I recall those gents had super-cool, Castilian accents.

I smell the spray paint, fresh upon the scrim.

I remember the buddies, they were standing tall,
And though we had dwelt in Village East,
They were packin’, packin’, like we were in Old West,
I hear the voice of that dazzle, the black woman,
Who, though she sang backup,
Her timbre commandeered the band,
Corralled the bang, bang and the whirling electronic rift,
It stupefies me how that past, it still reigns,
Though much, so much else
Over time tumbles and disappears.

And the boys’ night out,
They had ticket to premier, opening of the World.

Right before you, see, see, the images of the dead,
I had not thought death had undone so many.

And for those who survived, when truth be said,
Hear it, hear it!
Let it reverberate among circle of friends,
Declare it in the rooms and down the corridors.
Where the living have stacked the chairs up high,
Let it be known, there we go, lost, dead,
But for the Grace which brings us daily reprieve.
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