Box Core

Way up on the third deck

the strikes and balls

are a just a flip

of your emotional coin,

and the money

is miraculous music

jangling all around

like clouds

of mango butter

as the big league batter

dismisses the clatter

and focuses in

on the matter

at hand ...

A tip of the Saint Louis hat:

"A Cardinals fan?" ...

No, not even a fan,

don't even care

about the strangeness

of wings, the meaning

of things, nor the easy

stream of this here requiem,

just my zen baseball box score,

just my need to make

a connection above the war

Curt Schilling's bloody sock

goes up for sale

as his Titanic sinks

into a laundry pile

that hasn't been washed

since two-thousand and four

and now it's dirtier

than nine presidential campaigns

Bobby Valentine's February promises

are set ablaze by a fireball of Yankee

down and outers, up and comers

who have returned in October

in a snail mail of Saturn rings ...

I just can't think

of every thing

Baseball on the Radio

 

Baseball on the Radio 

Who needs the video

 when nobody is talking slow 

and every sound is set to fastball? 

Pitcher to catcher, who burns it right back

and Willie is trampling on the warning track

 Baseball on the radio is just awe right! 

Baseball on the radio 

Baseball on the radio

 Thank Oz there's no video 

Baseball on the radio 

Good zip in the mind's eye 

try and add some tilt to it 

Feelin' all the relaxed "out there," 

wiggle the glove, 

a foul to the warning wall 

Hear the fear, the chin music

 from here, the dog daze,

 well, well, well, into the Fall, spastic

 Buy a beer, but watch out

 for whom you cheer

 as you take in

 the percolatin' commerce

 of the Prostate Pledge

 Warning wall, warning wall

 from here, the dog daze to the Fall

 to where there's no decent thing

 to hear at all 

Baseball on the radio 

Baseball on the radio 

Thank God there's 

nowhere to plug 

in a TV show 

Baseball on the radio