Thursday, March 25, 2010



It almost looks like affection,
arms clasped around shoulders,

barely any space between
the two men, air between them

crackling with the promise of collision,
of impact. They slam fists into one

another's faces, turn skin
mottled and purple. Hollows puff

up, and what sticks out
(noses, cheekbones) soon

gets smashed in. I will tell
you this, my friend: the world

goes away for the men in the ring.
Flesh is pummeled and torn, and

they revel in the sounds of the body
proving how vulnerable it is not.

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