Panama Al Brown

I was cocteaus lover
he shared Me and I shared him
we made it work
he wooed Me with words which was something I found
for MeĀ at least because I came from Seashells and Small Streets
crowded Parks in the middle
fogs of incertitude and a jungle of willpower
and shadow

while My Fists must have led the way
I feel like he was my 165th and final bout
such grand seduction from this (arch-seducer) sweet scrutinizer of words
miss baker and I would stare at him lovingly
if you like that kind of thing
his gravity made My skin warm
(tension and attraction)
mama baker had skin like Mine
beaten and Brown
worn and tired: periodically carressed by Our mutual lover and friend
once he took Me by the hand
rubbing his thumb across My calloused knuckles
(boxer hands: sweet tender suave cohesion)
at that place in the city
I dont remember the name
just because it didnt matter

We were not two men there
Brown rocks that rose up and cracked
(knuckles k.o, k.o, k.o)
keeping time with the times the spirit of
what We were and werent
what We would have been and
what We would have wanted to be were
ghosts of the time by then
(zeitgeist isnt it)
We were greater than that
(but how could We not have been)
We tried tricking the trade itself
(selling lies telling lies)
even though We were Hidden
I was bare and open
I let the winds and the ghosts and the spirits
pass over Me
(they were supposed to)
I was a world Champion and without a single punch I was out


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