No quarter given to you.
Deep-rooted, a miscarry or
somebody’s miscue, trudged out
like a stab wound to the front
of a face, laden with warm sweat.
Please, hold still. Are you ready for my new idiom?
Of all specimens, you are a blast, a lot of fun.
What if we had known then
what we clearly know now?
Our performance, so poor,
might have still traveled.
Black Belt Magazine, Martial Art, Budo International
Once in a while,
I’ll pull one or two issues out
and dog-ear the techniques worth remembering, cause
I hate my pressure points. You know all their tender places.