Bronx Flyweight
He held still in the bulbs of light
As the shutters clattered and saw
When he could no longer hold himself still
A shadow did for him with its claws
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
When the coaches said by any means
It was an odd way to talk
Of a human career
Maybe, he thought, there was only one means
To bring the forms locked in history near
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
Above his head ads roiled in the wake
Of single-engine planes
And in those engines
And the nets their letters hung from
There was form and discipline
An engine of speech in a net in the sky
A Bronx flyweight in swag
Just starting to wonder why
A man who suddenly wanted
His good side in the dark
Standing still at the end of a shuttered light
That was suddenly stopped and stark
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
As the shutters clattered and saw
When he could no longer hold himself still
A shadow did for him with its claws
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
When the coaches said by any means
It was an odd way to talk
Of a human career
Maybe, he thought, there was only one means
To bring the forms locked in history near
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
Above his head ads roiled in the wake
Of single-engine planes
And in those engines
And the nets their letters hung from
There was form and discipline
An engine of speech in a net in the sky
A Bronx flyweight in swag
Just starting to wonder why
A man who suddenly wanted
His good side in the dark
Standing still at the end of a shuttered light
That was suddenly stopped and stark
Finding your form is not a form
Of discipline
Finding your form is a page torn
From history
What do you want from me
What do you want from me, now
Can you feel the apathy
How a fighter who's fought stays down
Credits
Writer(s): Seth Abramson
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