Baseball

I don’t want to live this yet, Springtime

For, every time the birds and bees and all manner of creatures and things -good sports and bad- migrate back

There’s the media storm, the tough talk, the hype, the great expectations placed in the wrongest of wrong places

So I will close my eyes and wait, Springtime

Death By Media

Miss me, please
And promise me too
That you’ll not miss me too much

Wonder of me
And when time permits
Step out and send me a note

I am convinced 
Life holds far more 
Meaning than can be shared here

Dine with me
Come find with me 
The world uncurated, hope