let’s go sport

again I find myself
alone as regular
surrounded by strangers,
bland in taste and dull in hobby —
cheering raving aaahhhh-ing
for their one dimension [only] tribe —
damning condemning cursing the 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳
side of the fence
as two sides of the same coin do
and they don’t think it be like it is
but it
             true

their righteous roar has calmed for anxious jabber
in placid wait for the storm waves on the horizon,
laughing and drinking and eating and singing
along for …le commercial de la migraine jingles —
the riled up fever’d memories of
generational television fiending young and old alike
where second by second
minute to minute
I fear I may erupt —
a geyser of mud and blood and burnt hair,
a shattered husk
in this smoggy foggy winter
                                                         air

as the runny ads of snot
all run their million dollar
maybe half minute, post cancerous jingle,
who knows how many lingering moments
before I.am.explode.
                                                             oh please God no
through a prayer mayhaps? serenity something
that I may return to blissful painful forgetful me
and to the all mighty hazy hoppy drinky …beer
where I might maybe emerge
                                                  please I beg You please
unscathed however unlucky
for the reminder,
              the haunted record
                       the nightmare novel,
           proverbial or incarnate,
on repeat on repeat on the ad nauseum repeat:

“you’ll die here”
                             “you should die here”
“the end is a
                         hop a skip and a jump near”
by and by

I am not drunk, but I think and I wish
that maybe, just maybe-maybe baby
were I the leany and stumbly mumbly
gibberish at the mouth, shit-of-the-face’d oblivious —
that I might could be free of the all sing song dance
for who knows
                              how many
                                                       sacred moments of lush
the beautiful and wonderful explitive-ly gorgeous
                                          raw noise and ripe static
               so I wouldn’t even notice
               the ugly purple people eater
            coin                                        has flipped:
                           the 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 side
cheering or
                         no— bleating, really                    on and on
for their own
                          bland boring dumb dull pasty pale
             tribe.