-of God, the universe, an obituary and Albert Ragonessi, that bum-

I’m standing at the edge of reason;

the precipice of one generation, where

the salt of life is to be recorded.

so the fragments are gathered, then

cobbled to read as in storytelling, enhanced

through the glazing of commonness,

that which appears to the critical-eye, unexceptional.

a scamper down the first base line, a dark confessional,
the first explorations, a brush of white cotton, a grapevine,

a junkyard, a death here and there, a death heard ‘round the world.

so what am I doing here, staring into
the eyes of souls watered by the piss of God?

( I was safe at second and everybody knows it,

sliding under Petrillo’s ball-filled glove as if I was greased.

Ragonessi, that bum;

he called me out with his beady little eyes, dark
and lidded and as fatal as Venus fly traps! )

so where am I taking this bauble of my time;
this ancient ornament?

to whom is that catch in left field bequeathed?

what will be done of the warm invitations I've long ignored?

it’s funny and tragic.

it’s unique and largely unknown.

it’s rich and it's formidable.

you should write this down:

that at the least, I've taken the measure
of that which would be forgotten and placed it upon the table.