Sleep’s statistical clutters quicken br desiderata of schedules wanting— br hegemony from standings trumpeting br triumph and trophy consummating… br in the arc of a completed pass…. A boys dream br scores symphony of self and other from the br argument of offense and defense—scores epic br antinomy from line and territory—scores world-song br from cosmic struggle directed by generals— br but fought in trenches by Trojans in armor br sheathed—and enshrined…by warrior-gods whose br jersey cerements retire in the Valhalla fame—the sacred br relics of ground offenses, of long-bombing air attacks— br defiance heroic to blitzes by defensive backs. br br A boys dream lives by his helmet but dies br on the sidelines—and after a close game br when his father said “I’m sure glad they br they didn’t put you in”. A boy’s dream br dies in a shame that wouldn’t acknowledge br his own little brother’s calls from the crowd—dies br under Friday night lights when the sun stood still br over his home town— still…like the eye of God br scrutinizing each secret inch of his sodomizing br soul— still…before the immensity of nature br and the psychedelic dissolution of self br into every musky spoor of this clayey earth— br this broken and bloody battlefield— br the body of the hero that became the world.