bullfight in an ivory bowl

today
I have read more bullshit than I dare
stomach and have listened to
pricks tell
of all the good poems they've
written.
they never forget to bring
the numbers
as if they'd be something great if they continued.
for whatever reason they have not.
the knife inside has since faded.
they now accept what is. but
they never forget. they never forget
to mention their artistic proficiency like a
bull through the cape. they dance
before the slaughterhouse assault.
I watch their mouths move as
the words come out and their is nothing there.
having now forgiven them I shake for any
extra fluid, zip up, and let the flush
take care of the rest.