_A Horatian Ode to Junpei Iori._
The rookie fiddles with his chin
As marching organ sounds begin,
The pitcher eyeing up his prey
His winning hunger pains the day.
He spits upon the ball of thread
And raises it above his head
The fastest bowl to start the show
A made career with killing blow.
The bat it cracks against the sky
It disappears! Home run, they cry!
He hits it hard again all spring
An...
Forgive me lord, for I have sinned,
Though I know not from what,
Perhaps it is my lack of sleep
That puts me in this rut,
I hear the devil’s words at night
Those fears he does incite,
Those spiders in my flapping skin
Awakening the blight,
Those nails, long and unabridged
That petrissage my nose
And leave my head in search of space,
My mind now food for crows
My thoughts are filled with viscera
An...
