Monday, November 20, 2006

Wherever I go now, my body fallsOn sand-stained diamonds, its knees aches and hum On duffle bags full of dinged-up foul balls.It’s tightened my head and fattened my frame.Those Mexican summers, those Cuban clowns,Those Veracruz paychecks, the fans’ fawnsAre all gone—the crown I wore was a fake crown. I’m angry and stubborn, stubborn and wrong.Which Promised Land was once promised to me?Who’s passed me over, who’s counted me out?Even inside this plump, ragged creature I don’t break my bats—I just wear them out!Jealousy’s monster has taken my fame.What kind of king has to leave home to reign?