The Bullfight This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Red Bull flares at a charcoal banner,

the torn shreds of sanity left to him.

Horns destitute, wanting of herbal baths

and peace treaties,

but such hopes are thrown to the bullfighter -

that bite of the Universe, inexhaustibly tempting

betraying the very seeds of humanity.



Instigation lies not in those mournful,

smoldering eyes, Red Bull only plays his part

in the games ...



Red Bull, hoofed roots digging into the nutrients,

desperate for a restraint, a promise of fertility,

Oh Red Bull, your onward march is fruitless!

The grinning delusion only erodes your will -

strong as you have prided in -

your horns could not pierce his smoke-rings,

nor retrieve that single thread

which you long to untangle ...



The mob cheers and tosses their

oversized sombreros without the proper acoustics



Charge not, Red Bull,

for in the Void,

debris collides at five miles per second

and a paint chip chisels a doorway.

To see your eyes in conflicting submission

justifies the matador in Medusa stone

Bow your weary, noble head ...

with acceptance you will elude

the cold bars of hypocrisy.

Follow your path back to the grasses

and singing violet fields.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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