The Greatest

I flee yellow handed
leaving sun drenched footprints
in the riverbed built by you
for me
with great apathy in mind.

I conquer love like sorrow,
with Italian peppers and
one too many Tom Collins'.
Feet sure between envelopes
of surrender and parchments
of war, I have
stripped naked and wearing
nothing but the white flag
I run
through pools of
purple left by bodies
and
around the outside
of sinking sandpits
filled to the brim with prrudish protestations.
Spy briefly in the House of Love
on Ladies pulled rigid and painted quiet,
spy softly on men,
as they hold their heads and think
of what to say next.

Dirt-faced and river worn,
I seek solace form this and these
and I love once more
running over pumpkin patches
and brush away all the stings American Hollywood
has so graciously given,
the white flag clinging as
saran wrap to itself and to me and
---I reach the rain.
I reach my pinnacle
all stripes and lies fall way and I am,
I am the luckier,
I am the luckiest alone.