Limbs gong the ribcage
But it’s too late for mercy
Prayers make good kindling
For the wooden bones
Stacked beneath the bull
Fired to braise flesh
Cook lungs and boil hearts
In a sanguine marinade
Of memories
Stories
And love
Black clouds gather
Around the obscenity
Disappointed faces look skyward
Into the rain
But these are tears unsalted
With the chloride of kindness
The potassium of cruelty
Drips into their mouths
As they rush fireward with wet barrels of oil
To salvage their thrill
But the devil’s fingers
Pull them into the fire
An ashen femur breaks the lock
And slick calves and wide-eyed heifers
Spill out into the storm
And run for the hills
While the bulls dip their horns
In the blood of their captors
And swear red-eyed revenge
Above the thunder.

To learn about brazen bulls, click here.

If you fancy a poem about a crime, click here.