Flies
Flies take charge of the wound
decay creeps into his nostrils
sorceress curses and in the corner
the blood-filled bucket
avenging bull wondered
what was accomplished with a death
the matador’s chest gored by right horn
deep aspirating gash where
breeze collapsed
his eloquent movements
fogged his poetic eyes
while the brassy band cheered victory:
of the bull
the matador
or the poet’s
composing this eulogy?
Manolis Aligizakis 