I find peace
in wrapped hands
and sweat in my eyes,
in the knowing grimmace and
bent back with hands on thighs,
of my neighbor, for a split
second of eye contact,
a too hot room,
leather bags popping
mix tape pumping,
burpees and planks,
pushups and
the bell ringing.
No matter what type of day,
week, year, life,
it drops the weight,
drains the mud,
I move
non-stop, through
the ache and burning lungs,
and time matters only
3 minutes at a time,
for an hour
of lightning streaked

This entry was posted in boxing, depression, music, spirit and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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