Glory Shall Be Revealed

Let it be known that I called the White Sox victory at least at the outset of the playoffs & provably on this blog before the series began. Tomorrow I'll witness my 1st tickertape parade through the Loop. I was in Bridgeport last night for the game & have never seen so much joy, love and high-fives in all my days.

So i came home emotionally charged & for the first time in a week launched back into my serial poem, which already has lots of baseball buried in it. Thie next section is dedicated to my friend Sean Flynn, who graciously invited me to the South Side to share in the triumphant night. Sorry for the length but the poems are chronological in their composition, which began last night about 1am. Comments have never been more welcome. All love & respect toward the South Side of Chicago, the pride of the City of Wind. Thanks & ten thousand congrats. Here goes:



Tonight, a single bridge,

an infinite zero
& no binary code

to explain the traffic & rain

of scarred throats raving
toward a child's dignity,

soaked, up past bedtime, awake

to scream with firecrackers
in flag-waving traffic, night
taken back for good & all.

Patient shaves clear the triumphant

path for pink twilight & jet-black
banners striping across the sky-

line, where victory awaits a parade,
paper haloes descending
by the thousands--

no barricades shall meet the wind.

************

Rivers halt in the flow of victory,

sad moustaches left over microphones
that have heard enough.
It's time for a vacation, time

not to throw a chair in disgrace
when myth finds you in ill favor.

************


Riots started no fire & the smoke
fills with cheers.

The wind needs more barricades.

Holy holy holy shall the tickertape
parade pass, baptized, through

miles of windows, a million voices

welcome home two dozen slim heroes
& violence crosses no Division.

No turf violated as tonight rains on one

diamond. The city needs more barricades,
but no fires take back the night.

Pinstripes anything but monochrome,
machines washing away the white
spray loosed into the bridge

lights, building a way, a triumphant path.

************

The finest laughter & scar tissue line
sleepless throats.

Heroes waved back to earth after
a complete game shut-out,

a sweep. A century's impossible tears.

Strangers embrace & the temperature
meaningless, hanging out windows,

racing slow motion flags to sail over
awakened graves. The nameless

deliver. Fierce hands wave from dreams.




ps check out the band Oh My God. they are amazing. get right...

yours in absence, r collins