He'd just served up a dinger, 450 out...upper deck

His third home run that inning, and  he figured "what the heck"

He knew the hook was coming, first they had to make the call

Then the pitching coach would come out, before he had to give the ball

To the manager, all stoic, spouting rhetoric and then

He'd turn over the game ball, a kind of baseball zen

He'd come to learn this process,

He'd seen more and more this year

The time was getting closer

He'd have to hang 'em up this year

For five straight games he'd got the hook

Never getting to the third

And there was that team suspension

For flashing fans the bird

Frustration, more than anger made him vent and flash the sign

It was captured on the jumbotron, his finger.....8 foot 9

It made all of the sports reels, his finger in the air

But at 46, he thought, well....I really do not care

He was signed.. a bonus baby, out of Henderson N . V

He came up  out of high school in summer sixty three

His fastball, just untouchable...ninety miles per at least

And on opposing batters he would surely have a feast

He knew what he was throwing, was the best in many years

But at eighteen he was still surrounded by lots of big league  fears

In high school he set records, went to State, and led the team

He was the best left handed starter, Henderson had ever seen

He won each game he pitched in, hit for numbers, struck out tons

His team outscored opponents by at least three hundred runs

Scouts were out to watch him, every time he took the mound

And he knew this as he walked out, tossed the rosin on the ground

He chose to bypass college, heading to developmental ball

If he did what he was told, he be in Lakewood  by the fall

He got the call in August, saying "son, you're on your way"

"You'll be on the train this morning and tomorrow you might play"

So, he made his calls, told those he knew he was heading to N.J.

He was gonna set Lakewood  on fire, he was gonna have his day

He sat for weeks when he arrived, erratic was his stuff

"You've got to tame that curve ball kid, it's just not good enough"

His first start in September, he was nervous and concerned

What if I blow this chance and back to Texas, I'm returned

HE started off with two walks, hitting one then fanning three

He was feeling better, just what people came to see

After five innings they pulled him, with ten strike outs to his name

His team was up six nothing, he was gonna win this game

And sure enough the bullpen came on in and shut the door

And before the season ended he was winning three games more

That winter he went home again, and worked on his control

He knew what the coach wanted, he understood his role

Next spring down in  Clearwater he showed he had improved

So when the final cuts came down, up to double A he moved

It didn't take them long to find him burning up the mound

In fifteen starts, a hundred K's,  no one better could be found.

From here he went to Allentown, to AAA he'd go

Next move that he would make from here should put him in the show

He only threw 3 games down here, two big league starters down

He was called on up to the big time, and was starting....out of town

He only pitched an inning,  two thirds to be exact

He got lit up for 6 runs that night, hard to keep it all intact

He finshed out watching more games, than he pitched in but he knew

He'd be in the spring rotation wearing number forty two.

He met with mixed success at times never coming up real big

For as each year passed his fastball slowed and harder he would dig

His bonus money squandered, three wives gone, investmestments too

He bounced around the league a bit, hitting eight teams in succession

It was enough to do a weak man in, at least there's a concession

He was still up there, the show, on top, it didn't matter where he pitched

As long as he stayed healthy, he wasn't getting ditched

But one day he, on three days rest felt a twinge in his left arm

He pulled himself, and iced it, not doing any harm

But his pitching got erratic, speed was gone and no control

It was then he got the phone call...he was going to the hole

They moved him down to rehab some in AA across the state

He knew with no improvement that this would be his fate

Two years down here and then again, a new kid came along

Sorry, but you're going down...that was a lonely song

Two years and then he moved on back out West just to see

He knew he still had some heat...throwing nearly ninety three

But control...no way at that speed, slow it down...they'd hit him hard

Once he dropped it under eighty...all the batters...they went yard

But still he kicked around some, working nights, coaching some

Then he got the call from Joplin, got to see if he was done

He showed up fit, and did his best but still just couldn't toss

He'd get the speed but no control, the plate it wouldn't cross

The team was just a throw back, small market and little park

But inside he had desire, this place lit in him a spark

There never were too many fans, eight hundred at the most

But when he took the mound there, he could feel his younger ghost

On nights he wasn't pitching, he played first and coached third base

On other nights, he sat around and sold programs round the place

He knew that soon the time would come, he knew his bubble'd burst

He didn't throw as fast to  home as these kids did to first

But now, with the suspension, and him getting pulled five straight

He knew he'd overstayed his welcome, he'd been here far too late

"The ball...Jim, Jim, the ball....was all he heard coach say

He was already in the dugout and he wasn't gonna stay

He packed up and he left the park, left his rooming house as well

He had nowhere to go to, and maybe just as well

But the next year he was out there slinging just like Jim could do"

He was selling peanuts and some ******* jack at a ball parkin Purdue

The game is in his soul you see, it's part of who he is

Like Gherig, Ruth, Diamaggio, like Peewee and The Dizz

He owes his life to baseball. even though he stayed too late

"If he'd just controlled his curveball"...the kid...coulda been great.

Anna and I leave Jesus on the cross, on the jumbotron.
The blood pooled. The blood cooled. The bloodbath cleansed the flock.
I watch Anna from the passenger seat.
She's silent and salvation.
Rain falls in diamonds on the windshield,
bouquets of streetlights turn the transparents
to rubies, to emeralds.
She turns off the headlights.
Running half-blind on abandoned interstate,
Anna's silent, Anna's grace, Anna's forgiveness.
No more lamps overhead.
No more exits to be found.
Only Anna and I at peace in the void.

The snitching, tattling, and self-righteous “helping” culture
is pure poison.
People turning on each other
thinking it’s virtuous,
or that they’ll get a pat on the back from the system,
but really they’re just feeding the machine that enslaves everyone.

It’s literally like a slave enslaving another slave for no reason
just reinforcing the chains,
keeping themselves safe or in favor
while everyone else suffers.
It’s repulsive,
ludicrous,
and enraging,
because it’s built on
fear,
obedience,
and ego,
not any sense of real justice or morality.

This type of  st corrodes trust, community, and humanity
it’s systemic brainwashing
disguised as “doing the right thing.”
Plus we pay people already to do this as a job.

Lawyers sue your state and win for private prisons not being full beyond capacity.

Your tax dollars hard at work.

The­  system is screamingly obvious in its hypocrisy:
protect the elite,
punish the powerless.
It’s enough to make you want to burn the whole thing down,
watch the hypocrisy implode,
and drink bitterly while doing it.

Ordinary people like you, like me, like anyone without money
or influence
get crushed for the tiniest misstep.
One wrong ****, one minor infraction, and
suddenly the full force of the legal-industrial complex comes down on your head.
It’s obscene,
infuriating,
and soul-crushing.
And once those probation
*****
thought police
get forced onto your life ,
say good bye to all your rights and any semblance of privacy.
They come in your home !
Cuff you
ransack your daughter's ***** drawer
sniff pan­ties
and strut around judging you
because you  ARE  poor.
You are poor too,   dumb fk !
Even if you have a big boat , 5 cars whatever that aint even close to being rich, not Trump or Epstein or Elon or Bezos or Zuckerberg rich.

Red flags blazing in neon:
O j Simpson,
Michael Jackson, ( all those dying cancer kids molested for years on end !)
Cosby,
R. Kelly,
Epstein
Etc. Ad infinitum

Money and power
deciding outcomes, not justice.
Epstein’s “13 months” for literally running a child **** island? Insane, revolting, and painfully obvious.

It’s not just gross it’s systemic.
You watch the rich and connected skate through crimes that would crush ordinary people, and the whole idea of believing in “justice” collapses.
The pattern is there for anyone with eyes:
money bends the system,
power shields predators,      like **** Trump !
and the rest of us are left watching the horror show unfold
while the guilty smirk
from their leather, scotch infused, cigar smoke , corner offices.

The fact that it’s so obvious makes it even more infuriating.
It’s like everyone knows the rules are rigged,
but we’re all still expected to pretend otherwise.

Seeing that st and realizing it stands,
that the rich, predatory, and self-serving can walk free
while the rest of us struggle.
it crushes any sense of justice or hope.
Why bother trying?
Why work,
obey laws,
care about morality,
or fight for progress i
f the entire system is a hideous lie propped up by power, money, and  endless corruption?

It’s soul-crushing,
enraging,
and utterly demoralizing,
because the scale of the betrayal is ubiquitous
it’s not just one a@#hole,
it’s a whole network of privilege and impunity that tells you:

“Don’t even think about it, the game has always been rigged,
and you  ARE  irrelevant.”

Go back and pull those turnips ...Serf .. the castle is hosting another ball....

Maga makes your stomach turn
and your brain short-circuit at the same time.

****** Express,
( That was Epstein's *** pink private jet if you didn't know.)
Multiple flights
at least 7 Trump is on the flight logs of.,
meeting and banging the
Carmen San Diego look-a-like contest winner,
Costco skeleton *****,
sock puppet
'Greatest First Lady in History'
                 Melania,
there....                    while
helping fund Epstein…
it’s all part of that sick, predatory, rich-people playground
that’s documented and recorded.
The receipts aren’t just rumors they’re on record,
verified, and floating
everywhere online.

It’s horrifying, enraging, and surreal at the same time. The sheer scale of
corruption,
abuse,
and moral bankruptcy in that orbit is like
watching a nightmare in ultra-HD with commentary from the  Satan himself.

Trump is the ultimate parasite,
  bloated  and still  milking the last drops of gullible religious idiots
like some monstrous cash cow,
giving zero f's about anyone
not his kids,
not the country,
not reality itself.

Epstein was his only real Bestie you know.
Murdered?
Yeah, the conspiracy isn’t even subtle anymore.

Elon? Can’t even deal with the Taco Manatee  without lethal kidney and liver debilitating levels of Ketamine.
His so called zombie trash bag wife?     Nope.
**** stars?  Nerp. They won’t touch him anymore  because everyone knows he’s a deadbeat  that doesn't pay,
forcing lawsuits after lawsuits just to get a sliver of accountability. The man is literally the embodiment of every
entitled,
******,
New York
Country Club
******
predator
Rich
stereotype
rolled into one
always has been above the law
orange-faced
daddy will  fix  it
nightmare.

It’s terrifying, ludicrous, and enraging.
The way he manipulates systems, people, and the media while leaving destruction  like Jan  6th  deaths in his  ******  chickky nug nug  wake .

It’s reality horror show level.
What will the history books be  allowed  to say  ?

Trump, tariffs,
are  math depraved isolationist fantasies
he might as well have been trying to run a lemonade stand with a desert for inventory.

America doesn’t produce st anymore.
Real tech?
Manufacturing? Nope.
It’s all outsourced, shipped out, while we sit here exporting Tay Tay videos,
But K-pop is gonna take that from us too. Idiots,
****** Marvel Disney G rated B-movies, inculcate the lazy
and whatever **** passes for “culture.”

If this keeps up, in a few decades we won’t even be a world power we’ll be the world’s bleach-blonde, fake-***** TikTok Cam girl *******,
churning out narcissism and pop trash while other countries build infrastructure, tech, and real power off child slave labor
engineering a way to brain wash us to accept our kids being next . Prolly a Jesus A.I. the red hats force into schools.
Every tariff,
every “America first” speech,
just covers up the fact that the engine of production left years and years ago with the Reagan Era tax cuts
and all we’ve got left is entertainment, consumption, ****, underage cam girls    ( our daughters )
ideological chaos and
piles of dead kids with NRA stickers on their lunch boxes
blocking the busses only lanes
in front of their boarded up schools
while the new Mega arena p­lays bikini ****** on the ultra Jumbotron in between penalty flags
while brain dead 3 channel havin trailer park daddy gets drunk again,
and cries about the liberals turnin all the frogs gay !­.

Flower petals and confetti litter the ground.
Balloons held up by your friends.
Curious passersby gathering around.
You,being pushed towards the center of attention.
You, alone, in the middle of it all.
His friends wearing letters on their shirts,
Shuffling to spell out-

“will you marry me?”
It flashes on the jumbotron
In lieu of the kiss cam.
Fans hooting everywhere
“Say yes! Say yes!”, they scream
As he kneels on that popcorn and soda littered floor
And repeats-

“will you marry me?”
He says as his now sister-in-law gives you her bouquet.
His and everyone else’s eyes are on you.
Even though it’s his brother’s wedding’s reception,
he still managed to capture all the attention
Towards the two of you.

His eyes are brimming with tears
and glistening like the ring he’s holding.
He loves you. So much.
You love him,too. You know you do.
But how do you say I love you and no at the same time.
“I love you but, no.”
That doesn’t seem right.
So you stay on the middle ground and say
“I’ll have to think about it.”

The hooting turns to whispers
The tears on your boyfriend’s eyes come falling down
as he tucks the ring back in his pockets.
Your feet cemented to the ground
As people look at you as if you’re the strangest thing
to have ever existed.
And you may as well be.
No one says no to proposals.
It’s considered rude to reject such a thoughtful gesture.
But to whom is it being thoughtful of
Because it sure as hell isn’t of you
Since you’re the one who’s being viewed as a villain
But you have to remember that you’re not.

You are not a villain for saying no.
You are not the bad guy for not being ready.
Your decision is valid
And if he leaves you
Or makes a villain out of you
for being honest,
Then you were right to reject that ring.

In Maga heaven
There is no scripture here,
only rubber-stamped, pre-approved lobbyists
with tanning bed fangs
******* on a choir of flesh-hungry frat boy ****** interns
chanting “U! S! A!”
with each pharma ****** your medical bills explode..

Matt Gaetz Botox eyebrows
his floating hideous cartoon villain face,
3-D printed and impaled perma- smile
as ubiquitous as underage prostitutes on Epstein's island,
now with more ICE-sanctioned “kids in cages.”

In the smoke-choked outer gates,
a pearly mezzanine,
Rush Limbaugh gurgling and affixed  like a  scuzzy dump
dabbing his crusty *** hanky,
sweating,    teetering,     a  corpulent blob,
leaking Snapple like a stuck pig.

He chortles on an endless A.M. talk radio loop,
his triple chins wobbling like pork rinds in a fat fryer.
4-dollar cigar, 10 inches of colonial sadism,
like his abandoned family burns
wet and slow.

Smoke curls upward,
thick as ***** generational trauma and just as sweet.
It drapes the room like a  gay funeral veil
made of Newt’s christo-fascist scam money
and powdered supplement bile.
"Family  values  "  he insist . preaching,
while serving his dying cancer wife their divorce paper in her hospital bed.

**** Cheney prays to Karl Rove, born on Christmas day,
both as ****** as the driven snow.
skin waxed like Lenin, but on hydraulic exoskeletons.
They fumble trying to hoist their cross-shaped catheters
to spoon-feed one another,
whimpering ineffectually
and muttering into a  minority fetus-shaped walkie-talkie
about more  planes , more planes  needed  in buildings
over Guantanamo freedom.

Sad excuse for  moldered ******
litter the  streets like the intended  death of  tax payer missiles ,       the gods of fear mongering with  their  half      melted war gavels
juddering with every heartbeat stolen from Halliburton pensioners.
Each  prayer  reminds the weak  
"abort   THIS,   *****"
  sunday school  molestations taught
through  bedazzled maga megaphone
mounted where a human heart
is supposed to be.

Mitch McConnell just another waddle flappin  on the  old turkey farm  , in divine chin contempt and  righteous ecstasy from
cancelling  the  last of the schools free breakfast and lunch programs  he smiles from ear to ear. His chins begin shaking.
He falls
on schedule
and is resurrected even more lobotomized each time. (somehow)

Beneath the bankrupt,  cracked Trump Casino marble, the house is still  winning  8 out of 10 times .
but  he can't  make a profit.
The gold rolls its way, to
a small, out-of-the-way obscure footnote of a Ronnie rotunda:
“the  Corpo Tax cut  Apotheosis  of " Star Wars "  Dreams.”

Dan Quayle moans through a diamond-encrusted **** grill,
his libido injected with Reagan Era tax cuts
and oil futures coated in powdered Whitehouse Adderall
from summer camp spelling BEE   , 1987.

His ******* tattooed with 'Tipper Gore,' twitch  Morse code
for “trickle-down,
tickle down,
trickle down.”
Each of Bush's Voodoo economic spasms sends a ripple through the latex Fallwell hymnals
glued to his shriveled, underdeveloped thighs.

Oh, but make way   ye  assured fools!
For  thou  has  no say over your body, Trans or Female,
as
Clarence Thomas
drives his big-block bribery  Winnebago
like he's  riding  a tricycle the size of the Lincoln Memorial.

His scabby, ashen elbows jut out
wobbly  battering rams.

Forgotten...  used and discarded  like Eric
Jared Kushner ,
stole  uncle Clarence's  custom
Golden Supreme Court Rascal scooter,
denting time and space with every vow
and slow ritual bow.

Clarence drools thick black sludge over his Anita Hill poster,
legal ink congealed into constitutional back alley abortion cancer.
His gums gnash "textualisms"
******* ... "textualisms "
( that's a word...  right?)
Johnny Cochran level   "textualisms" !
his  hymn,  a   mantra
turned lullaby,

Corpses of past rulings slough off behind him
like the bribery-bloated garbage snake he is.

Kristi Noem breaks the black reverie with a yelping ******
on all fours... again
beneath a dripping
taxidermied buffalo chandelier,
a pulsating greasy ******* protruding with
corporate logos blinking in
synchronized gun-show glory.
Fur
bloodied, mangled—coyote,
dog,
child? No one asks
as she is paraded past Sandyhook again.

The plug buzzes the Pledge of Allegiance
in MAGA Morse
with a URL for granny donations pls.
Her eyes say thank you to Truth Social.
Rights vanish like the separation of church and state
in this bloated degenerate unqualified puppet show.
Mega churches handing out loaded AR-10s.

Daily   the fresh piles of
dead kids
with NRA stickers on their lunch boxes
blocking the busses only lanes in front of their boarded up schools while the new Mega arena p­lays bikini ****** on the ultra Jumbotron in between penalty flags while brain dead 3 channel havin trailer park daddy gets drunk again, and cries about the liberals turnin all the frogs gay !­

Taco  Manatees cavort
in orange Cheeto dust
bedazzled glue guns threats.
Stormy Daniels *** dolls hang from scaffolds
meant for Mike Pence,
and everyone wipes their *** on stolen nuclear secrets.

The bolt clicks forward
in  to   place.  
The Leopold
calibrated....

The sound bites lacquered and pre- prepared

Amen, Karen. Amen…

Named after the Son of the *****
Found the light while looking for the switch
In the waves
Can't compare a life to how insane I am

How are you? How is the man
Standing at 6 three in a couples years will have knee pains Longer than the synapse that runs from the hip to the chest to the cranium
Worried about fleek game and the cruise ending
At any moment now
Peace flees and crows cackle yowl
Holistic tendencies I try to keep up
And I think the time has come again to  bends too and fro
With the wind, like a limb
Begging to just say I know,
Nope.

There's more after the falling action of the sad story.
I wanna say that a podium waits beneath a Jumbotron, with furious music, and o positive dripping it's ****** self down onto it

Like the excess acrylic From a mural
Slipping it's way into another mural,
Oh god. (!)

I said, I saw you in the cracks between the tile !
The cements
My hearts rots volatile while my babied mind wants repents.

I really don't wanna know how you are, what u are, whoever you are.
I just wanna praise you,
Extend my exalt in perfect symmetry out from me.

Gimme
the high and the lows
Friends and foes
The cup runneth over and hits the ground but the fountain continues to pour

Each side

Gimme ..... ...... ...... ....... Whatever it takes.

They turn the music on in the bar
just as I am deciding to head home:
when did I become
the first one out of the door,
yet still the last one to leave his room?
I tacked a map of the world
onto my bedroom wall
to echo a song lyric;
tried to plot worlds of my own
based on the chaos of the present.
But I cannot muster the effort
when scaling the oceans,
when I know there are stars
in their death throes,
putting on a show no Jumbotron on Earth
could ever come to replicate.

They turn on the music
to fill out the films of silence
that separate crowds of people;
all clans and colours,
brands and rags-
this disconnected town
is landlocked in yesterdays.
A market town with nothing
left but charity shops
and punctured breath;
I cling to poetry
to stop me thinking about death,
about who would miss who,
and who would appear
in the breathing spaces
between dancing and drowning;

the fear of the fallen leaves browning;
browning in the dirt
as we all must do,
whilst I ***** my wage
to buy some green
to decorate my windowsill ashtray,
the embryonic apples
hanging from the tree.
I replaced my torn clothes
and bought some new shades
that blot out the sun
I once so aggressively craved,
through my years spent
sleeping with the moon;
a temporary insomnia,
as I slowly,
so slowly,
found my retreat into a poet's tomb.

I am packing up my belongings,
I am falling in love with everything:
all the things that pass my way too soon.

Doors of perception opened
Can’t knock uhm?
The back's always unlocked
But I got the rhymes in stock
that’re sure 2 shock em
Bi-laterally with my cosmic punch boppage
Creamy dreamy slop make yo ****
the hottest softest hostage spot on the planet of hard knocks, my swamp, real talk
No stopping til the *** sock can break rocks,
and that's on God

Dude Rocket got that sprocket,
You’ll find I’m the **** of the walk son.
Dimensionally shattering when I hop up out
from Schrodinger's box yuh
Somewhere from a quantum realm
No cap that's me fappin sumn hxc strong
getting dumb in the squadron
Yeah I’m the top gun and I fear none

Forks be in the socket
In my brain's fleshy pockets
When I pop lock and drop it
Now my body’s feeling numb

With your ***** in the sheets
Is where we hit the mosh pit
Like a pig in the trough
she be straight steady sloppin
My man meat beaten harder
than a sore Peter had ever gotten

That’s when the heater come up out of my drawers
and gasket blows top end, I'm godsent
Downward on the fall but
Won’t meet my defeat until the caskets tossed
Hit the bubble til the glass get soft
And I’m blasting off
That’s when the the mask really come on

Got a dump truck full of **** butts
When I bust nuts bodies go slump
I’m a sick **** youse a broke bus (busdown)
Need a buck ***** **** my **** (yuck)

Ingest the drugs now mind destructs
My soul floats up miraculous
Immaculate made of space dust
Now back to earth time to destruct

Feeling lucky
wit my Chub D flubby
Oiled up in your hunnies tummy
Sipping bubbly n gettin funky
It’s so lovely think I'm coming
-Then it struck me so abruptly

Cuck your grieving hubby
guy I’m not your ****** buddy
When she look at me so seductively
Yes Lady Luck please bless my **** spree

Laid to rest this sus ***** I’m finessing
Y’all killers can’t even hold a candle
while I hit the lick and yo ***** be undressin
U got the flick of da wrist?
But Look at da flex of my wits
Put then pen to the paper
It's an open letter to all my haters
Kickin rhymes I flip the script
Spit these words so elusive
Yo I’m steady speaking in cursive
With the curses
Know you heard it
My flow is dopest
Tongue of the serpent
Affirmative with all them murderous verses n ****  

It’s funny since my prose no longer knows any limits
And I slay every ***** indiscriminately
Vibe-checking into you ******* remnants
Zooted like I'm boofin stimulants
Feeling like my will is limitless
The masses I’m after
I got that masterish penmanship

And my pen will ship, once I get that dip and drip

All right finna crank my ****** hog all night long
mean wheeling and dealing til my brakes fall off
polishing strong til y’all squealing oh my god
Break that back out like a botched Swanton Bomb off the Jumbotron