[revised to Gorging Matadors 1.1, please ignore this version]

maybe i knew how to write,
write well,
when i was young,
writing about the trees, the hills,
or my favorite toy,
there was honesty,
the hemingway kind,
bulls in spain
gorging matadors
with no sense of decency,
what do i write now
but neurotic ramblings
about me, me, me,
not the trees,
not the hills,
and not even my favorite lego set,
i should be gorged
or at least faced against an angry bull
to test my youth
the part that never dies,
instead of facing computer screens.

 
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