3 February 2013
Inside the helmets, Breaths raw, hard, rasp, and echo. Cloud is not impressed.
Long kick, sailing, oh… Catch it? Me? No, thank you. No. I don’t wish to die.
A star, curious, Lights the torn tape left behind For the hungry rat.
Clock ticks down to zip. Twelve-pack is dead and cheese balls All gone. Nuts all gone.
Super Bowl • Opuss № I