the glory of the stadium spectacle before the forest of throats chanting the soccer chant
high definition color scrolling companies forcing background attention
the dots dribble, the sticks pinball, the game picks up, the human body sweats perfection
the season starts on my wide screen high def tele and the myth begins

the secret is whispered in dark

as rising as falling as air moving in sleep silence and calm
her breath a small steady wind believing me to the secret i screamed at and made known

a secret destroyed analyzed dissected becomes broken

signs previously revealed

{secret summertime window-unit air conditioners alleviating hell;
triumphant ferry rides across bodies of water;
and bringing a child into this world;}

cling as loss
as nothing
as gross
as evil perhaps
reveal that which should not be written revealed

to one who had given me life

broken trust with a traveler, a god, a lover
off-colored salt habitually filled damages and
bitter scalpel inspected the works the wounds
corpses rolled in graves
words not written

balloons deflated on all membranes

and now magnificent glory
the secret is whispered in dark as rising as falling as air moving in sleep, silence, and calm

the rage and the magic lurking as love
literally lust literally
lapses silent terror and big words
drawn out conversations after the occurrence

the passiveness of nighttime pets soaking up the cicada sound
and boxer dogs chomping at mosquitoes reflexively
long after the fly by and not caring

horns and motorcycles in the blocks away, having run over roads that are now their pasts

So i’m stumped. Been stumped. Been halted. Been quiet. Been home in lost. Nervous there’s no more capacity. No chin strap to put back on. Is all that is left a rotted baseball diamond park bench with no paint? And no game to watch? No players?

Just a physical space of the diamond.