a poem

boxing patterns

myths of Miles Davis stay with me
particularly on the record to boxer Jack Johnson
Miles laced up his shoes tight every morning
training for a fight
is instrumental

in the garage
my father's Everlast black leather gloves
i find them in dust i put them on
again things are forming in a way
i can not quite understand
i bow before the bag
i remember blows my chambers
Sensai struck bamboo to my red legs
tighten your stance , you are water you will not feel this
my right forearm is burning
peek-a-boo
feel my cross
i gather the secret jab of my left , i feint and southpaw the bag
the sound of chains clank
hook the line steady the bag's swinging
go the distance until the breath sharpens
while this vessel is not frame for boxing
slim and beat from winters lethargy
i should just dance carry head on
the omens of this season
point to all reason that i should
come out the gate swinging and
by the grace - parry
bob and weave
my reactions to the spiders web
shows me
i've been at battle with patterns and padded walls

#boxer