wake up, he'd said, she
remembered,
in a dream,
awakening reality,
and herself within it,
and the feeling lingered,
all morning
she saw through the translucent
world, as slowly opaqueness
returned, in the afternoon,
falling asleep,
again

—the bell!

/ end of the 6th round /

He staggered to his corner, collapsed on his stool.

Enswell. Water.

"******* ain't tirin'."

Cornerman: "He will. All men tire."

He got   off the stool,
ate a left,
and countered:
knocking the *******'s skin off,
revealing: not bone:

metal.

i ironed mi shirt
wanted to straighten out
mi life
           lies crumpled on the floor
mi life
           is nothing more
than a pile,
           creased       sore         linen,
gittin mi **** together
this year and youre in
it  too
                      this pile of me n iou.

treble treble bass
fish swims, her gills opening;
                scales upon her face

if you plant the seeds,
sun flowers shall, blooming, light
up the universe

I was born too late
to make it to work on time.
Tick-toxicity.

at the furthest
                        reach from me,

somewhere on the other side
                        of these lucid hills,

a box of sun has been
                        opened,

cut into manageable
                        pieces,

and given to all the young
                        dreaming denizens,

to blow with all
                         they have

inside their strong little
                         lungs--
                               ­     up,
                                          up,
                                                upward
into the sky,

circulating light
                          until it dawns as us all.