The Show

You are a bench coach at the single-A level
A role that has purpose
For only that situation
It builds local fervor, then global silence
I'm batting .320 at double-A
Playing a graceful centerfield
For the love of sun, grass, peanuts
The camraderie from fans
The team history
The pride of my uniform
Next season is a short stop at Triple-A
An Italian tournament
The speeds change when thrown from the mound
My determination stays the same
I swing softly and hit hard
Because the bright lights beckon

Constant Drizzle

I know that you're gone
I know that it is over
But my eyebrows collect raindrops
Spitting sleeplessly in Seattle
They float without gravity
While penetrating with permanence
Of a microfiche era
That never transferred to Blu-Ray
Despite our vivid color spectrum
We glowed like stars from the Gilded Age
As our relationship flickered dust, ash, and embers
I tried to douse my flames with calm
And replace them with smiles of sunshine
But my teeth were stained by Camel Lights
That pretend to salve my ruins
I know that you think little of me these days
Perhaps wondering why it ever started
While I chatter teeth in the Great Lakes
Under black cumulus clouds

Two Windows

I look through two windows again
With two eyes rather than four
Looking at the sidewalk alone
Rather than the constellations together
I can find Orion and Sagittarius
with someone
I can find them alone
I will find fiscal guidance alone
I will better respect personal boundaries alone
Then I will find an empress again
Outside of these panes

The Old Days

Mystics from the Far East now calculate p/e ratios
Mystics from the Far East measure taxes on tea
Nomads from the Subcontinent play the flute
Before installing a network
Gandhi smiles from above, seeing his salt revolution
Take a digital reprise
The biceps of Putin flex with the scowl of Lenin and Stalin
The Kremlin spreads oil from the Siberian tundra to St. Petersburg castles
Oz bounces on the red plateau
And stops the Tasmanian Devil
The Motherland lives with persistent demons
Smiling to give rhythm, joy, harvest, and wisdom
The Amazon rainforest grows with vivid colors and Olympic pride
Ronaldo kicks stones through the slums, robbing fear from the hood
Pilgrims and colonists bite their thumbs
Worried that a classic sequel to Rome is in production

No Options

Mr. Bill meets with Mrs. Inspiration
He is knighted to save white blood cells
He needs to rescue drying bones
And energize fraying muscles
He goes to Washington
To triumph like Mr. Smith
His staff is sharpened
With words drawn by a mighty pen
He cuts through the House
Bloodied, but staying strong
The blood keeps flowing instead
On the way to the Senate fortress
They take his liver and fry it
A proud knight then
Now a shameful jester