Sunday, March 13, 2011

Fist a Flying; final.

I step into the ring fists a flying
blood stained ropes
splotch covered canvas
smashed mouth and I'm shaken all my body through
falling backward
bouncing off the ropes
g-forces whipping sweat off my face
like a dog shaking off water after a torrential downpour.
No time to ask myself what's the fighting for.

I turn and face a battle royal where everyone's against me.
Eyes lean forward my mind leans backward
and I remember a time when I saw the finish line
a mirage rising murky on the highway,
and I drink deep from a dream-works spigot
fade in and out
come round about
hot tub thermostat shoots to the moon
120 degrees
so hot it burns.

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