In the upper reaches of a multipurpose stadium,
Thunder has been set on fire.

In these distant perches,
This tent revival of hawks,
Cheap of the dollar, rich of the possible,
We are ransacking the hopes
We hide beneath our larval tongues.

Baseball is below us.
Baseball is about us.
The horizon is a waterbed.
Joe Rudi is our quarry.

I am kissing you with my bad neighborhood.

(This piece originally appeared at FanGraphs. It has since been revised and made even worse, probably.)