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a tree
I hank
here this
fallen arc
yet the
loop in
terry that
a singularity
present now
go to
New Mexico
and the
ennui divided
there with
scrambled eggs
and this
dark star
A star of the east
rehearsing...

in the mind
he rehearses
a sequence of blows
lefts and rights
uppercuts
the jabbing low
whilst dancing and skipping
on spry feet

insides...

butterflies start to flutter
around in his insides
yet knowing the opponent
must not see any nerves
he's got to be
cool  
and
assertive
the glove's punch
deliveries
being
a
bout
winner

dreaming...

it's fight night
at the Las Vegas
Grand Garden Arena
he'll slog it out
for the welter weight title
muscles
poised
his package
ready
to wear the crowning
belt buckle
NB: A poem written for an American poet friend,  who is a boxing enthusiast.

— The End —