Ballgame
Imagine Chinese water torture. Anticipate
the carpet covered bed
of Fat’s truck
busy old fool, unruly sun
and you was such a baby
and I wished my friend as sound asleep
and you shall have some peace there, for peace
comes dripping slow,
Alive? You might be dead for all I know
not in silence, but restraint
for Christ’s sweet sake, shut up and watch the ballgame
you add to my afflictions, and amplify the same.
(This poem was created using snippets from other poems.)
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
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