So the distances are Galatea
Charles Olson:
The Distances
It is a dance in two
parts. Is ritual.
Pop song from the
Forties. A trip to the moon.
The bull, the matador.
Dance, ritual, death.
Whose death?
A las
cinco de la tarde.
Usually the bull. Sometimes
the matador. Provocation
can have unexpected results.
A procession of flagellants
passes by. I am drunk on the
smell of fermented mangoes.
Red sand blood white.
What colour are your eyes?
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