Last* Poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
Last*
The tongue slips
over the grayish-blue
edge
of a Catalonian knife.
Salt.
Tambours bang.
Me or him.
The dark dance starts.
A step
… a jump.
The night -
an award for death.
A red dress -
survival.
Curse eternal -
Carmen.
Corrida - ever.
The knife stabs in the back
and the crowd cries
'More! '.
Breath, breath - the edge
squeals…
*‘Ultimo! (Spanish)
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: jealousy
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4/16/2024 6:46:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
