PUSHING SKIN.

In the sweat of it
You count
Doubt out,
And repeat
A mantra of increasing amounts,
As the meditative sound of fitness
Surrounds the bits inside
That remain unconvinced,
And by the finish
What you’ve done before
Has been wrung from memory’s fund
And spent for a moment’s end
In order to afford
Another engram’s remnant
For storage,
And recall once more.
And eventually
The seat of your pants
Doesn’t sit as it did,
On your arse,
And your skin
Doesn’t fit,
As it did,
On your arse,
But the case
That you’re making
Is made on your face,
And your frame,
And the phrases and gains
Are replayed
The next day
Amidst the sweat of it.