No one today is worth
the life of a great beast
I am the bull
For what else can I be?
By the decree of the encompassing stars no less.
This ring here on the ground, of course, is yours
This whole arena and entranced audience are yours
My field- I have never known what my natural place would be
Because of your ability to de-nature all that you touch-
I could not learn
And I appear so
Stupid before you and all
In your constructed territory
Of course I would
Onto your sand
Your slipper-ed feet prance and twirl you
The dancer-ly refinement of you
Around my lumbering attempts at-
I plod through your pageant without ever equaling your grace
Are there any true seeing eyes in the crowd that catch
The kind of careful elegance of mind and body that are mine alone
(or would be mine)
My waggling testicles shrunken from loss of blood notwithstanding?
(Qué vergüenza for being silent)
In full distress, strength races out of my veins.
You scold my rough exterior with lances instead of-
(Well, after all, what else would you do with my hide-ing self?)
Rather than teach me finer skill-
The ability to speak- let us-Say.
You taunt me
As you strut and flap capote de brega colors in my face.
For me, the world goes to white over
And over before it is fatally more over, finally.
The balances of power, beauty- the light of radiant humanity
They are tipped to you
Biases by the masses who are beguiled by your righteous sparkle.
Just be the cause for you to stick me and prick me
Just because I am so strong? I can take all of your stings?
I am pinned ‘Kick me. Harder.’
With all these banderillas on my back
Unable to flower to full sentience
Unable to change my plight
And so should be given the poke
For being the slowpoke
Just because a thing of lesser station must be dominated to death?
I can take it?
This is a game designed to distend your hauteur
I have enough wit to know it
And yet will play it every time
As the fortune of my birth into hard-wired humility
Prevents me from doing more, else or better
Than face your pompous ass-ness with my spit foaming
My head shaking horns, my blood showing hotly
And still you swagger in arrogance and boast your greatness.
The scale ever tipped, you power trip as I just trip over my own hooves
My greatness turning to shit much sooner than your greatness.
So why not amass all esteem for yourself leaving nothing for Others?
This is the game that you have established
But when will you learn
(Who can teach you!)
Being the big dick
Is not enduring
(And only, on occasion, a little endearing)
Your paper construct will go the way of wet sanitary tissues
Stuck on the shoes of those even more impressive beings
Not taken up by your blingestry.
Dumbly plead for more life
Nor even release from these staged acts to pastures wide and green
It pleads for a taste of justice in this rigged match
Oh, we can keep playing hard
(Because you aren’t prepared to give it up, I know)
This life and death farce
But here are new terms for this dis-agreement:
(Are you listening?)
If I end up dead first
(Every time it seems)
You must afford me top billing
I will take all the praise
And the laud will die with me and seed the earth for Others
And you will not strut and preen like a cock in the yard
Brandishing your spurs
All glory be unto thee
The one who survived
The one who murdered for the sake of Self.
I will play the game and make you look good as you like
But all the olé is mine from now on
Cock out – laughably out of place
If I were not there to make your refinement look just so
In contrast to my brute and base nature
(Horrible, dark, and chaotic. Feminine?)
So all glory be unto me!
It is my blood and froth which
Bring the gods down to us
Not your perfect forms and stances that
Only kind of catch their attention
Because the blood of this low animal is sanctified in this game
(Oh you forgot that byline, did you?)
I go to meet the gods first and happily while you lag behind
In lieu of waving bits of me to the adoring mobs as your trophies
To the displaced scruff who
Made your tailored suit appear to flash brighter than Venus at dawn.
It is a dysfunction in your grand logic when
There is no room left to give respect to the one
You cannot kill the barbarism that is in you by
Sticking the beast before you with a blade
The metal that touches your chin is the same that pierces my heart
And severs my spinal cord
I have taken the metal to heart and you only brush the surface with it
I am ever so much braver
Than your empty gestures of civilization
For all the smarts already under that montera
You can hear naught but labored breathing, grunts, pants, baws
And you think it is most like silence
Under the approving roar of so many spectator creatures
Similar to you
Hypnotized by your own narcissisms.