Don't hold your breath.
Your focus will be
in the space between your ribs
and your gut if you do.
Snap your hips square and drive
the ball with your penis,
or for the women,
your ghost penis.
When you're doing it right,
when your muscles aren't fighting
each other and you
vibrate like a tuning fork and
sound that splintering note as cleanly,
the barrel of the bat
will make a sound like a struck match
against open air.
Whatever heat
the pitcher turns on you
will be extinguished
in the charge
you put into the ball
like nitroglycerin
to the base of an oil well and
instead of sprinting the 90 to first
like a man on fire,
you can stop midway and
make a wish on that contrailed,
red laced, sunray white, leather bound comet.
