Glancing Blow

A poet of the sweet science

The uneasy pugilist

with a talent for the game

Sparring and moving quickly

between a legion of blows

Trying to avoid encounters

that articulate the cruelest prize

The truth takes exuberant swings

as the champ parries calamitous thrusts

From the dancer on the canvas

Deeds without names

from your charcoal past

of pain in resplendent bloom

imbue a stoic indifference 

in your left at the station eyes

And for good measure

your secrets kept too easily

leave scars that feel like yesterday

will never stop talking to you

Pealing commissions another round

for the merited practitioner

of afflictions without remedy