"It's about words, and words are all I have…"



In our 2nd home  they bought the boy next door

a basketball he spent the next 10 yrs. bouncing

We un-gallantly accepted the mad metronome

counting aloud the seconds of our waning youth

Our diminished senses   The flies in the ointment

of our dribbledondreams   Go straight to hell Basketball Jones!


His father  a kindly man  waddled home each night

His sister easily the man’s doppelgänger   The mother

wore beige polyester pants  had a mannish profile  &

survived a brush with an early Reaper   At a certain point

all stories  are true   Where now young B. Ball Jones   of

the sweet face and bulbous nose?



Fall  2014





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