#bulls
The day is done, time for my habits
A crooked barrel, shooting at rabbits
Quick little ******* another one missed
Change the subject, you’re dismissed
Another thought pops up, laughing at me
A blurry bull’s eye is hard to see
5/28/26
13h ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 9:23 AM UTC
A well-groomed matador José
Liked to moisturize with Oil of Olay
His hands lost their grip
The cape it did slip
He was gored as he cried out "¡Olé!"
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 1:06 PM UTC
They look out from the terrace.
At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.
BANG!
An artificial cloud.
“Mira,” she points, “Venga!”
They fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.
Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.
"¡Ya vienen!"
Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.
Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.
Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and closer, louder, gallops sound.
Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;
indoors,
apart,
he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner
with long strides
too fast to follow.
She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
it
crashes
in.
She turns and the fear is paralysing.
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
He hurdles the stairs
and explodes
but it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.
He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering
paves
it
peters
off
down
the
street.
"¿Que ha pasado?
¿Quien ha sido?
¡El Balbotin
y la Chicha!
¡Que una vaca
les ha pillado!"
"¿Estas bien?"
Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.
"Podria haber sido peor"
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
Last night I didn't have the backbone
to turn the flat screen off.
The lump in my throat is wimpy.
Act I - Morning Regret.
I am attacked by regret for things
I can't remember.
She helped me with these states of mind
all that summer.
Then she walked out.
That part I remember.
I can't take much more of my eyes.
They're like the button eyes of a doll,
pre-drilled watch pocket spares,
back-breakingly vague and see-through.
I just finished my latest
first half of a self help book.
It promised I could be free
if I were willing to work the 19 steps.
You know the town is dead
when doll eyes go unnoticed.
Act II - Afternoon Regret.
I miss her so much, I could -
I definitely could -
I forget what.
Definition of "depression:"
That familiar, back-of-the-skull,
chock-full-of-neck-muscles all screaming :
"We've got to get out of here-
It's this town, this century, this jacket"
feeling.
That summer I needed to believe
that we were jointly crazy.
Now I can't recall what she had.
I told her about my obsession
with that stiff knot of muscle
between the shoulders of a bull.
The choice cut that the picadors go for.
She said,
"Maybe you're not as depressed as you think.
Maybe you just have bull shoulders."
Our friends called me "bull shoulders" all summer.
It was so funny!
Actually, they were her friends.
Now I watch CSI,
with such precision eyes,
wasted on all that flatness.
Act III - Family input, and take-away.
Sibling Chorus:
"We're such a loving family,
yet you didn't call Mother AGAIN.
So how's the shoulder bull thing going?"
Me:
"Bull shoulders.
And we said we weren't gonna talk about it."
Sibling Chorus:
"Ok, so did you get the book we sent:
Beat Depression in Minutes while you Sleep?"
Me:
"She PROMISED she was crazy."
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
10 to 5, Job
Of a prediction game
Investment,
Always a half way to goal
Uncertain market
Let’s bet over Green and Red
A thin balance,
Tracking ups and downs
With a colour change,
Every complexion turns, dull or bright
A calculated ****** expression
Almost ready to express
With some losses, some gains.
Rumors airs,
A political unrest,
Sign of regressing opaque sense
Digital formulas,
Almost rests in vain
There is,
Tug of war, between
Supply and demand
A growling Bears Vs.
A grunting Bulls.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
rest of title...Parkland, Fla.,February 14, 2018
One more senseless mass homicide
twas the sole arbitrary aim
as a former student nonchalantly
sauntered empty hallways
seconds preceding blame
brazenly intent to maximize total killed
matter of factly telling police
(his incomprehensible)
(ill) logic he did explain
when cornered, he willingly,
unflinchingly, reticently admitted guilt
Nikolas Cruz rocketed
to instantaneous infamous fame
pulling a fire alarm
("FAKE") emergency,
then going leisurely ambling
along his killing spree
total of seventeen slain (comprising 3 faculty
and 14 students)
mercilessly gunned down
as if they were wild game
when handcuffed, an innocuous
19 year old did readily admit
emptying one firearm after another
at a fairly rapid clip
then at some predestined
or spurious moment didst dip
and dive out amidst
the chaotic madding crowd
before reality flopped then did flip
as lower teeth he nervously bit upper lip
made feeble getaway
at a nearby eatery casually flirted
with cashier and made no move to flit
upon his seizure as cornered prey
subsequently large tract
massively cordoned off
strong arm of the law
slightly halting in speech
detailed his gambit
deliberately staking
a stance to maximize hit
and once again afflicted parents lit
up with rancor and rage pit
toughly battling sorrow
which will not quit
til death doth bring peaceful rest
sans, those grieving family visit.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
No rush of the bulls
filled these narrow cobbled streets
where tradition and
songs sounded over pinxos,
and stories of San-Fermin.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 2:28 AM UTC
The curious activity of men/women
makes me wonder precisely when
both will learn how to conjoin
with rabbits, geese, bull and lion.
Talking incessantly like birds,
roaring like lions. However absurd!
snapping like crocodiles
or habitually waiting in human files,
torturing like cats
water-boarding rats,
rolling like logs
snarling like dogs.
snorting like pigs
gobbling up figs
In everyone an animal lurks
whether saints or jerks!
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 5:31 AM UTC
We all wish we could skip our chores like we skip cut-scenes in a video game
Or songs on our internet radio
Trust me, the Bulls wish they could skip the rodeo.
I wish i could skip the pauses in the stereo.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
We're from a city where we hear sirens when we're in bed sleeping. Where some go to sleep happy while others go to sleep weeping. Home to the nicest people, and the worst criminals. Where we get messages, both clear and subliminal. The city of wind even on a warm summer day. Where it randomly rains or it snows, but after all it's okay. The town where people leave and promise to return. Where roads lead to success and everything we have is earned. A place so beautiful we wouldn't trade it for the world. A location of joy, for all boys and girls. The home of the Bulls, Cubs, Sox, Bears and Hawks. The city where no one crosses at lights, they just jaywalk. Where we hop on our bikes and ride to lake shore. And as the time passes, we wish we had more. Where we've made memories and friends for a lifetime. Where we can go back and trace every event on our timeline. Where we feel free as a bird often, and then trapped as if we were in a dome. A city named Chicago is what we call home.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC