Matt Dali Bull fighting

the pedantic overtones dull-
(you are sitting
alone in a black
sweater with
your head on
your arm and)
it is a painting. you are some hallucinogenic matador
scraping the rose-
wall ring, watching the dead bull heave finally,
its iron flanks heaving finally
its iron belly and ribs heaving finally, the blue knife
between two iron ribs, you are awake and

cold from the Spanish rust-
you are awake and cold
in a red chair with your(head
on your arm)wanting the warm
bull blood between your hands
and the heaving finally,
flank, belly, ribs, between your blue knife-

there is someone speaking.
peripatetic, speaking like hungry
autumn. you are in a black
sweater and your sleeves are
pushed back to your bare
arms twined tender,
the Madrid tender dust, the narcotic
bull at the corner of your mouth-

all these dull planets out ahead, and the illusionary ring
and the roses falling slowly
from the stands