Another old one

Batter Up

I don't worry about the orbit
of the earth around the sun
or the angle of approach of
ultra-violet rays through gone layers
of filtering ozone.

Bacteria billions of years old,
found in rock flung through space
from other worlds have been made motile
in labs. Life goes on no matter what,

and we smile around corners and dream
of days before sweet madness raked our minds,
days after it caught us in nets of barbed wire pleasure.

There is no melancholy moment more harsh that the
one reserved for the moment we kiss heaven,
nor a day grander than that spewed like lava love
from the jaws of the grand beast master.

We slide behind the eight ball with beer and bad news,
waiting for more than Godot.

I just want sanity here on the edge of madness. I want
to howl like the wolf in the sage, bleed like the gut-shot buffalo,
throw my bones over hard cliffs and beat high falls.

I need the sweet curve on the outside corner and
at least a walk, but I'm leaning in the wind
looking for the fence.

with luck I've already found it.