The Ballpark

Body starts it’s slow unwind,

Begins to end it’s slog through time

And one day (soon?), the spark subsides

One pulpy, flesh cell, at a time.

A clock’s relentless tock, (it ticks)

Like Ballpark Lights that timed shut click, one

Glowering Tower at a time unlight

When you least suspect a change, one night.

Who knows when that hour comes

Or how quickly an unfolding play it runs

Such insights are not meant for fuss:

Like, finally, where one rests, Sublime.

(Tue 6:26 Am)