Vespers -

In the city of bulls ...
          The ghost of a right hand
                              reaches out
circling blindly,
          his half-closed lids blend
                    with the numerous wrinkles
on a face long forgotten
                              by all
save
               for the four mournful eyes
                              of two starving submissive dogs
tied to one another's fate
               by a tenuous string
                         dangling parabolically
between their necks -

In the city of bulls ...
          The stifling heat
                          surrounding the skins
of restless beasts
               is filled with the odour
                              of primordial sweat
issuing from
                a countless multitude
                         bearing fashionable clothes,
styled by fashionable designers
                         whose eccentric boutiques
vie for prestige
               on this all-too-fashionable street.

In the city of bulls ...
          The remains of a once dynamic
                                        world line
are scattered upon 
                    a stone pavement
                                        etched by heels
and promises
          severed only
                     by the resonant steps 
of marching legions
          gazed upon by a pack of wild dogs
on the nearby hill.

In the city of bulls,
          two tin cups bearing lire
                    adorn the breasts
of these eternally faithful
                              friends
distressed
          at the sudden jerk
                                    of their master's head,


in the city of bulls
          few notice this unparalleled
                    event carved within the world line
of this day.

In the city of bulls,
               during vespers,
                    as I walked
                                   alone.