.  Tapes of kickboxing
and firepower melt down in natural heat.
Nothing to get the knuckles worked.
And these, abroad in their young thunder,
charged by body count,
they tell out their lives as field entries,
their dreams and accomplished
shames alike, tease us along concealing,
practiced not to tell, biding the cycles
drawn upon the plasma of events,
the reach of chorus and tribal cant,
finding the marks to praise
their meaner world by,
the oblique sportsmanship
behind the uses
of truth is.

from brunch

robert lietz