Invocation

Sing first, goddess, of the birds which streaking
To your sides are honorable love's sign --
And other airy beasts who silent mark
The logos in their wandered loops and dives.
And then tell of those walkers dusty paths,
And those submerged in water's changing tide --
Mark well how all come forth to your harpsong
Like unto like with enchanted passion
Cleave and so generations are renewed,
By pleasures sought, year to year without end.


And tell of the game of Colombia's sons
How owners and players came to contract
After Agamemnon did lock out
The fair-haired Achaens for many months.

Call to our minds the playoffs of winter
When Snowmaggedon covered the land
And Cerberus' sons awoke to bite Phat
Veta's daughters, again a bridesmaid.

Recite, goddess, the unlikely run
of the dead sons of Argos, sailors
on a tide of wins favored by the gods.
Where will another year find them?

Speak, oh muse, of Grisham's new agony
Spendthrift, and laurels still out of his reach.
Will quantitative easing fill his coffers?
Or shall he, pauper-like, eat crow?

Call to our memory, the old commish
His hubris, which mocked the gods,
And like Troy cursed and slaughtered
Before the eyes of the Father.

Remind us, of the melancholic Dwelling,
his blue Romo and lonely star broken,
His word on cash is law and many seek
Some augury of his ancient knowledge.

Muse bless our revels to Dionysus --
And just as the sodden drunk late awakes
With winedark stains and nachos becrusted
Reborn, he himself with beer's first crip crack,
Just so awake our BEAST MODES, hibernating.
And as bee drones misled by cellphone traffic,
Happily stumble upon their old hive,
Just so lead us home for the league's honor.
Call forth the knave! And bid him ask us
yet again - are you ready for some football?