Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Game Time, Gnostic Park



When you pass through whatever it is, if I understand them,

And shed it all like a wetsuit, but without feeling clammy,

Without feeling anything I guess, then you're supposed closer

To where you started, and if that's true, it must be waking up,

A nice nurse introducing you to all the other kids who've been sick,

And you're ready with your friends for the malt shop and the jokes

And to hit a few fungoes in the bright light, and you sprint all out

Back to catch the fly ball, and you're way up, your mitt

Angling -- Mine! -- to catch the sun right in the sweet pocket.


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