Sunday, April 11, 2010


Little shards of pain
A muscle tweaked
A throbbing thumb
Even a wrinkle in the sock

Count my breath
Hum a silly tune inside my mask
Working up the scale of Fibonacci until
I lose count

When it works
Flick lands, light as feather’s touch upon your back
Parry 2 riposte, upon the very edge of your lamé
My long coupe attack completes, unmindful of your squirm

Anything to wave a shiny object
At the corner of attention
Sometimes it’s enough to
Break the hold of
Tyrant mind

Given that I cannot think and do at the same time

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