Selected Poems
Horked: Among the Gore Goons
After seventeen winters perfecting walking on water
it was the three months in the ring made the difference.
There was little joy in answering this bell.
With something to prove, it's over in a moment.
Snap the wrists to drop gloves, balance, square and fist-grab sweaters.
Spin around, a few swings and someone striped steps in.
Grip is loosed, freed at the sleeves. From a broken brow
trails of drip-splatter garnets lead to the dressing room. Teammates
scrape blood with skate blades into diamond drift snow corners.
Winner is escorted with slam and clank-latch of the door
left with rights to gloat and sit in the box, alone.
That's five minutes for fighting.
it was the three months in the ring made the difference.
There was little joy in answering this bell.
With something to prove, it's over in a moment.
Snap the wrists to drop gloves, balance, square and fist-grab sweaters.
Spin around, a few swings and someone striped steps in.
Grip is loosed, freed at the sleeves. From a broken brow
trails of drip-splatter garnets lead to the dressing room. Teammates
scrape blood with skate blades into diamond drift snow corners.
Winner is escorted with slam and clank-latch of the door
left with rights to gloat and sit in the box, alone.
That's five minutes for fighting.
