He's primed and lean; for seven months, he trained
Alone, surviving on a strict regime
Of ice, herbaceous plants, and self-contained
Realities. His hollow VR dream
Concludes with whimpers; heeding lilacs rasping
Through dust and empty cisterns, he secured
A rematch, entering the ring while grasping
A neolithic blossom -- pink, inured
To cold, the ice age circuit board has petals
Beside its stigmas. Reinstall the system,
Reboot the fighter, see how soon he settles
For lesser thresholds. This is where she kissed him,
Assuring him: this broken jaw of our
Lost kingdom scars; you'll always have a scar.
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