Local Box Score

by | May 15, 2013 | Poetry

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like walking around the city too
But in Atlanta there always seems to be a circus in town
In which, past the spinning cups, a tent
Sells baseballs cards and/or reads fortunes on glass or metal
The glossy surface is scored
Not a smoker I light a lighter
See a flurry of home run balls
Next to the hoop fountain
Next to the bombed club
Change for a 5, a monster caffeine or cherry soda
Hmm I’d rather have the fruit, chocolate

Keep badminton playing its nets
& fuck look more fucking bombing
He was Carolinian & hid in caves & tunnels
You & I were magnetized for a couple of dozen years
So maybe I can trust the token I do slip into the attraction
Without a costume I hope that the music will ignite
The metal, and the metal will be quartz

Or a popular smoky cafeteria
Or bottle tops or plush cubes or hot pink kittens
If or if not the falling-in-love water falls

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Heather

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