w(innings)

and when you begin to shape your life 

in terms of no longer losing a slice of your soul

every day to the toil of sorry choices made without consultation 

or permission – neither explicitly nor implicitly read[ed.] ever – 

you realise that cricket and fair play may soon

rule you proud and aloud and publicly sounded.

and so the innings will no longer be a blood, drawing and balling

from the stone of cold loss and daily no, fuck off and go;

and instead it will be possible to conceive of a beautiful game: 

no longer the same week after week but 

sketched of fabulous stuff and the things of seems;

well dreamed and teased and tussled from your soughts

and maybe – even – in the future to be [t]old 

one moment of joy and man happy at last

from my slowly unfolding measure of me – 

[p’raps] 

gentle treasured too;-) [who’d say or even know?]

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