For me there was no audience,
no brass music either,
only wet dust, the cheers
buzzing at me like flies,
like flies roaring.
I stood dizzied
with sun and anger,
neck muscle cut,
blood falling from the gouged shoulder.
Who brought me here
to fight against walls and blankets
and the gods with sinews of red and silver
who flutter and evade?
I turn, and my horns
gore blackness.
A mistake, to have shut myself
in this cask skin,
four legs thrust out like posts.
I should have remained grass.
The flies rise and settle.
I exit, dragged, a bale
of lump flesh.
The gods are awarded
the useless parts of my body.
For them this finish,