complicit

i want to do something

about all this.

i want to be a part of the change

that needs to happen.

i want to walk away from my job,

as much as i love it,

and devote my life to

doing something

about all this.

i want to sleep on the ground

in washington.

i want to wake up next to you,

pour you a cup of coffee,

then hold your hand

and march.

i want to stand there,

proud.

not saying a word.

holding my fist in the air.

not leaving when they

tell me to.

i want them to kick my ass

because i wouldn’t listen.

because i was doing something

about all this.

i want to share a tent with

strangers.

i want to meet all the ones

like me.

normal people

who want to do something

about all this.

i want to stand with millions

on the capitol steps.

i want to never leave until

something has been done

about all this.

months and months like that.

living like slobs, and

wholly indecent people.

 

but i can’t walk away

from this.

i have a job.

they provide insurance.

i’ve got student loans.

 

if our credit rating

gets trashed, we won’t

ever own a home.

and maybe a baby will

find us someday soon.

i’ll have to work.

plus,

our house is comfortable.

and it might be cold in

washington.

the strangers might

smell bad,

or steal,

or kill me.

when i’m doing something

about all that.

 

i can’t risk it.

tonight i’m going to

eat at a real cool spot.

it’s a trendy banh-mi place

with green-haired cashiers.

i’m not afraid of them

because they’re kindly

taking my money.

 

we get along as we

share a moment

in exchange for getting

what we each want.

 

i will keep reading the news,

though.

hopefully someone does something

about all this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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infinity baseball

i.

throw the pitch.

not because you don’t know what will happen, but

because i know what will happen when you do.

swing the bat.

 

i don’t care that you struck out–

i knew you would–and i know that

next time you will strike out again.

keep swinging.

 

catch the ball.

it was impossible for everyone else but you,

and that’s why you’re where you are, and why

you caught the ball.

ii.

the baseball field is an exposed microcosm featuring

the inevitable actions of universe, evolution and space.

the quiet above the diamond is loud with infinite outcomes.

millions of pitches, angles, bounces, runs, heroes, memories, and lore–

an entire history–

products of expected or outlying probabilities.

and everything in between.

iii.

the game doesn’t need to be played.

we have models that understand the game.

as far as you know,

it has already happened.

iv.

physicists map impossibly small particles of matter

to understand what, if anything,

can defy our understanding

of natural laws.

with baseball, it is the same.

v.

heyyyyyyyyy

batterbatterbatterbatterbatter!

heyyyyyyyyy

batterbatterbatterbatterbatter!

suh-WING! batter!

batter: out.

game: over.

final: expos- 7, yankees- 5

 

robot programmed chatter

cost the yankees this game.

 

yankee-bot form no. 2491

has struck out to end game 7

in the 28-billionth simulated

world series.