Alva and the Ode to a Punching Bag

You hold my fists of lonelinessthat clench the clumsy weightof last ditch caresses. Beat intoyour vinyl sheen is the pain I lugto your altar to put the pain inmy hands: busted knuck,bound wrist, sprained heart,you are teaching me to findthe true bottom of my lung,the boy in me who wants to talkless about heartbreak and punchholes in walls like my father