Wednesday, August 10, 2011

brokenheartist


it's good to keep it tight with brokenheartists,
fifty bucks a month,
open early to late,
jump ropes,
heavy bags,
worn canvas,
kettle bells,

it's good to break a sweat with brokenheartists,
in a rusty gym,
where ghosts wait between shafts of sunlight,
dust flies and flickers off broken mirrors,

I used to love a brokenheartist,
but she hated her daddy,

sparring hard to the foot-work rhythm,
when the bell rang,
she would catch her breath,
we'd sit together in the dark,
sometimes she'd be crying,
there was no consolation,
packing up,
I would leave and shut the lights,
and she would fly away,
to sleep quietly,
with the pigeons,
in the rafters,

see you in the morning brokenheartist.



4 comments:

Square Corner said...

Probably the best thing you written. Really fine stuff. You've inspired by the streaks of blood on a frayed canvas. By lonely dreams of punch drunk men. Damn good work.

Bethany Ann said...

punch it!

Fisheye Lens said...

When those brokenheartists hate their daddies, look out!

I'm going to have to ponder this one some more. Nice stuff. HP.

Old Ollie said...

everything comes from a broken heart...bless 'em