LET ME TIRED IN
Not being the one who can't talk here, I won't be mute.
Most of the time I spend is spent in a prison of broken
imagining, wherein people sit to talk, and linger over
broken dreams and faded memories. The frog-man
plays his distillated water-flute; how strange to
watch him move. Used to mermaids, instead.
-
This is chiaroscuro, something I never wished to see:
the light will fight the dark, the dark shall fight the light.
Let us stand to see which wins, if any. Like the end of
the world would be, I imagine a big flash where such
opposites meet. No one plays music at the corner.
-
The baseball men have returned from Rome : visiting
the Pope, they said, was a masked-man's thrill, and he
was interested in baseball too. I didn't, and don't, believe
a word of it, but - if he can believe some of that other
stuff he pushes, why not spitballs and beaners?
-
The capstone is leaning on the edge, where the
time capsule will be placed. 'What's inside?' I asked.
The man said - 'a jumble stick, an IPAD, a box of Kleenex,
a sleeve of Advil and a cross from the Medical Center at
Lourdes and blessed by the Pope. 'Holy Hell!' I said,
A regular, freaking home run!!'
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