Pulse Dial

sparring partners
The bell sounds.
Outside the ring
stars throw a blur
of white knuckles
in paired millions
at you
but the crusher sun has got your back. we are slabs of meat,
He’s a fist that pummels the sky laid down to cover the swelling.
purple again for looking it is our coldness that heals back the black eyes.
You split your swole lids
on the cold dial.
Collect yourself.
Pick up the receiver
and once more
press that call
until her lips are
drawn and juiceless
on the other end.
until your ear is
mashed firmly
as hamburger
Disconnected lives
need those bouts
at dawn
or who knows what
the sun will do
when he turns
on you.
He came to see
a fight today.

0 thoughts on “Pulse Dial

  1. UFC meets yellow pages in the boxing ring telephone booth at the end of the universe. I like how the poem starts in one direction and then juijitsu flips you into another so you understand the metaphor. Fine Connectivity! Usually when I hear bells I salivate, this time I drink Bud light with beer nuts.

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