Thursday, February 6, 2014

dukes up

i am the challenger
putting my balled hands up
and covering my face.
protecting my head,
i leave my ribs,
and abdomen exposed.
absorbing body shot
after body shot.
punch
after punch,
they are starting to take
a toll.

i am becoming exhausted.
sore.
memory loss.
sweat building up.
the side-effects of patience.

i wait for the right moment.
waiting.
waiting.
waiting.
for my opponents
to let their guards down
so i can remove
their teeth
with my fucking fists.

left hook to the jaw.
i will smash their skulls
wide open.

swinging.
going for the knockout.
i watch the backs of their heads
bounce off the floor
as their arms go up,
and their eyes roll up
into their brains.

smack!
smack!

i hock a wad of blood and spit
onto the blue canvas,
and raise my arms to heaven.

"who nex!"
"who nex!"

i don't know.
i can't remember.

2 comments:

  1. sorry. i mistagged you in this post, but thanks for the comment. motherfucking sharks was so brutal. so good. and yeah, this poem isn't a challenge to fight you. i'm only 120lbs so you can probably kick my ass.

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