series1bk2.8.2

 

One to one, when only one can win, scarily pinning pot-shots on a dancing chin, spindly on fluid legs, and ever wary of a meteor tearing in, I strive to vanquish. Thankful for breath left after whirlwind slamming, I cram galactic fury in the black hole of my soul, priming the trigger for a Big Bang, then clanging the clapper of the ring's glory bell. Swelling crescendo in ecstatic excitement, the raucous chorus spills its spores. I fill the floor, pirouetting to attract the more acclaim, with brain fizzing, and arms like flames to the sky.      My brow's now felt (whatever else my tale)      Olympic laurels - lower down that scale!