by Nick Gisburne
I grapple with the creature in the pit
A seething monster, summoned from the night
Repulsive organs separate and split
Disgorging deadly fluids as we fight
Its eyes are filled with violet and gold
A stare to freeze the rhythms of the mind
My fingers drive to dig a deeper hold
Aware the tail may strike me from behind
It struggles to return from whence it came
But knows I will afford it no escape
A scaly leg is twisted, almost lame
Yet still its mighty talons swing and scrape
At last we hear the fearsome, final bell
I win, but my opponent wrestled well
