clout

The dumb blunt instrument staggers on, barely capable of motion and cognition. A creeping shadow and mindless doom, this hunch of nerve, this clench of breath. A burden on itself— never mind society. The legacy of causality, the  creature we become.

Hold fast to these meager treasures, hold tight as the sands slip away. Slow and fleeting, the plodding on of sea and stars. Time is nearly down for the count. Forget about the blow by blow. It will take everything left to stop the onslaught.

The fall isn’t a spoiler. It’s the only given you get. Then it’s the discipline to land what you throw, and the guts to take the hits you can’t slip. Bell rung, the lights a flicker, the adversary a stubborn blur. This is where it gets you, stumbling with the hard count sure to come. Clock cleaned of dreams and glad tomorrows, you stumble on just to make them show their work. The meat headed steady, straight for the fire.