Poetry
Pope Loco Sandia XXIII
Reflections on the Matador
Not quite the velvet domain of kings,
The first from Galilee, the other, Tennessee
A framed clichÈ
Smacking of a Hemingway short
This matador, call him Theseus
Confident and proud
Sporting grim arrogance
That feels so familiar, so timeless
We've seen him before
His arched back
And perfect balance
Poised, teetering on the verge of mediocrity
The realm of O'Keefe
And her vaginal blooms
His story is legion
And the canvas has dried to cardboard
Where is he now?
Maybe in a mall
Or restaurant wall
A motel in Tijuana
Or a bar in Fresno
Far, far from Crete
And once heralded heroism
