like a hot iron upon the palm
i bullmark blackened charcoal
to paper, searing each line as i write.
the ring of a coffee mug on my journal
turns pencil to spear, coffee imprint
to dusty hoofprint....
and i am as a spanish matador cursing
the majesty of the great beast.
with its last threshold of a breath
in the pastures of praise, piercing
its side with a number 2 pencil.
so gently in it's ashen shore of flesh
i die a little too....