is to be read from the beginning, as most things are.



The J.B.’s got the blues,
the hues and the grooves.
Grown from the muddy swamps
of green Louisiana.

How is it that those swamps are
bluer than the Jersey coast?

Still, there ain’t nothin’ bluer
than the isles of Greece,
where you can see the tip
of your toes, waist deep in water.

The farther you look,
the bluer the water gets out there.

My favorite blue though,
is the opaque one around the moon.
Only when the clouds are just right,
or maybe the tides synchronized.

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