six, seven, eight

battered ribs

shattered nose

rattling skull

the taste of blood melted plastic,

the only good thing

is the cool canvas brushing my right cheek like my mothers palm.

i want to stay here,

staring eyes like a night sky

all so, obstreperous

for frame of reference;

like the first round, no faces

no names just eyes, flashes,

hazy-

than a meteor crashed into my skull

twice

and

i

still see those stars