The Maze Bull

How she squats
as though to
shit, but instead

delivers me: mossy
spine, incipient

like a boy's
dry nipples--above
my eyes.


he loves me:  goading
me with the bobbed
sword or watching me

struggle up
the beach, my hooves cutting
into the sand

even as my brain
cries "foot."


Nearer here
to heaven than you
might think:  spiralling
walls, though I cover

no distance; sudden
pairs of guests,
clean and unclean; a thousand

torches.  The afternoon
sun reflected off the lenses of a fly.     

Cooper Esteban Index
The East Village Poetry Web
Cooper Esteban