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After Fighting (More Blood Edit) (Sonnet) by zodiac
There was once you held me in your headlock when
we might have been Madonna & Son - a Descent.
But I reversed: lord, I reversed, and had
my knee down on your neck raining blow upon
blow, until you lopped a fist into
my chest that stilled me a little while I boot-tapped
the street for purchase, our comrades finally
dragging us, still spitting, animal in articulation;
nothing resolved. But, oh, tonight I'm cruising
westward in starlight a straight path I'm making
through olive groves, a rangy dog, jag-hipped,
belly-low. Iâm jowls, gums, sharp canines, outthrust
my shoulders, wringing my big fist by my side.
The grove pours out in a wide whorl of stars,
the long dogjaw of Wadi Araba, Canaan,
and you suckerpunched me, lord. But I reversed,
oh, how I! No fighter, I would have taken
your throat in my teeth and drawn up with my back.
Iâm pissy-sweat-smelling, like a cave, the tinfoil
taste of blood in my mouth. Tonight I'd be
human but oh-sweet-lord how I didn't
relent. Tonight I dig my toes in, pushing
the earth with my strides. The air hums like
applause, stars double and treble. Tonight
I could be Jacob Israel stumbling west
from a whole pit of conquered Dominations.
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
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Arithmetic Mean: 9.0
Weighted score: 6.0757656
Overall Rank: 1170
Posted: November 15, 2005 10:51 AM PST; Last modified: January 26, 2006 12:45 PM PST
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Comments:
306 view(s)
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Maybe "wringing" is the problem. I did wonder about that, but decided it was a good enough word for kind of fidgeting my fist around, but not from pain or weakness.