Like something out of a Madonna video.
Hallucinogenic Toreador
an ekphrastic poem after Dali
What flourish. What magnificent cape. What slender sword.
Blood blooming like roses on the flank of the beast,
roses blooming in the dust of the arena.
Triple-thorned dance of the bull-fight
and applause.
Which woman will take you to her room, bathe herself
in rose water, bare her soft breasts to you,
feel your calloused hands on her
soft belly and thighs? Which woman?
Which room?
For you, there is no struggle, no excitement
and there is neither for the bull.
A moment’s passion for the cut.
The cheers are the buzzing
of flies.