Crazy Is.... (Love's Lesson)

Crazy is....

is that I still love her.

Even if it was a lifetime ago
and now we lead
separate lives,

I know now
that this love
has defined me,
made me into
the man I am.

Love is not
a screenplay:
No auditions necessary.

Love
is just that.

Love,

without boundaries,
without conditions,
without having to reason
why it can't be.

It is
and we were.

Because we loved then,
we can love now.

Even if lifetimes
and worlds separate us.

March Madness

Crazy is
being immersed in this
time of year called March Madness,
cheering your head off

for teams and players
you know nothing about
as they beat the teams
you know all too well,

the ones who get every game
broadcasted nationwide
with players who have
national notoriety even before
they set foot on campus,

the ones with distinctive
color schemes and rally cheers,
traditions and histories,
those well-known images that capture
the imagination of the masses,

even the players from the
school you know nothing about,
playing out of the spotlight
but playing nonetheless
for a shot to play along

in those three weeks of March,
where only a select few
get to travel to
neutral sites, playing on
neutral courts for one objective:

Be first to get to six wins.

That's why it's Madness.
Anything can happen here.
Both favorites and Cinderellas
dance next to each other
hoping to be the last standing,

hoping that at the end
of all of this hoopla,
they get to cut down the nets
and let the confetti fall
as they raise the trophy to the sky.

Brackets

A 16 has never beaten a 1.
Check.

A 12 will beat a 5.
Check.

A 14 taking out a 3?
A 13 downing a 4?
Maybe?
Maybe not?

Staring at multiple blank sheets
with team names
and blank brackets
trying to figure out
who in the collegiate world
is gonna make it through.

Trying to decipher
the Baylors from the Belmonts,

the Dukes from the Drexels

(wait, Drexel didn't make it),

the Dukes from the Davidsons

(that's better),

and rest of the mish-mash
of power conferences,
mid-majors,
well-knowns,
and unknowns,
all in the quest to answer
the biggest question of all:

Who the hell is Cinderella?

What team in this whole shindig
is destined to dance
with their Army boots on,
causing utter destruction to
Bracketvilles all over?

So the experts and non-experts,
armchair coaches and casual fans,
and those who don't even watch
fill out name after name,
trying to get those right teams
at the right points
to win their pool.

only to lose to the unassuming secretary
who picks teams by
how cute the mascots are.

Her City

When the grips of winter
lets go of its hold on the city
and is replaced by the
gentle touch of spring,
that will make her smile.

Finally, she can go outside
and rendezvous with her
dear little haunts of downtown,
those places untouched
by the too rapid pace of progress,

taking pictures along the way
of the little treasures she finds,
those images unseen
by the city traffickers,
buzzing ever so quickly along

the urban landscape trying
to make the next destination on time.
But she takes her slowly
and comes out from her playground
with a full gallery of

her city.