12 August 2012
Sitting, staring down running my finger over the cracks etched into the ground, cant hear a thing, no noise, a single sound
I'm devising a plan to open a can, brand marks in his face with Ambidextrous hands, I rise up imagining ghe ring on my feet with a spring in my steps, in my zine I get
lose the gent at the door, flick switch to raw, practice my south paw
this is as serious as it gets, people placing their bets... No pressure, no pressure no fear no more.
He may be the champ, but "son I'm gonna test ya" my fists will be happy that they met ya!" Sound floods back i have no odds to be stacked
they come to collect me and guide me down the path to the sound of my track, the one I have chosen to represent me, pump me up, fired up it gets me. Now I've entered the ring staring in his eyes waiting for the ding, no room for thoughts in my sports, can't fall short of the mark I need to spark and arc and work my craft, walk the path , ding ding now it all about to start amongst the snarls and barks of the crowd and my home fans
fists flicking back like rubber bands as hands land in the shape of fists locked wrists become weapons driven by muscles as they defend then threaten, my body sweating, through my guard I'm checking the way that he moves I ruse with false news Trying to focus until my feet switch slotting into my groove Ready so I shuffle its a Bare knuckle Scuffles dust clouds explode as the contender finds himself in trouble almost punch drunk as my punch is sunk like doubles of JD, im different gravy should have done your homework before you ever did faced me, float like a butterfly and sting like a car crash on him like a rash.. wearing a blood moustache... Look who joined the party it's wallop and crash, beating him down - like instant mash! . Moving with the grace of this sport ducking and weaving as my body contorts in time with my breathing attacking from all sorts of angles my thoughts dangle ready for selection 'combination' so I throw out a collection "body, head, head body" he fell... Saved by the bell enjoying the moment embracing the smell it's too good to be hell... water, spit bucket ding ready for my next meal. Like a lion ready to kill... But I Defend... Defend peeking a look Clash, clatter I've read all of his books Quick counter Leaving him shook as a Left hook comes crashing in to his chin un telegraphed as everybody looks And he still stands then opens a can of whoop ass with both of his hands shaking through my body deserving of his title - low blow, ouch is he taking the Michael...
this is the real deal no time for resittle, regulating my breathing, checking my vitals... Now that im seething my punches are landing quicker than leaving each one delivering the meaning of self believing, he draws back his body wrealing if he takes much more hell be on the canvas dreaming. But the fight hasn't even started I'm still in the dressing room and I've already imagined giving him a beating - the difference between men and champions are who you believe in.
©Edward Gee Humphrey
Thought Of A Champion • Opuss № I