No Ten Count: A Mental Health Month

It's that little voice again that becomes a roar, 

Denouncing the work of the self 

Words lie empty 

Throwing away 

Flushing thoughts 

Back to a familiar space, 

In retreating. . . 

Where talking, 

Once shared its necessary corners.

With a back against a wall 

Without a way to maneuver. 

Coming off the seat 

As a First Round 

D e s t r o y e r. 

Bell rings 

First-swing 

Clock-cleaned, 

K'O'er. . . 

The Buckling; 

Under a starry gasp for words, 

Time stopped 

Ref called: 

"Lights-out! A goner. . ." 

Moving off the mat, 

While fighting to exist, 

The lesson learned in living, 

Is in the dodging from its fist.